THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


EERTRAND  SMITHS 
•OKS 

M.UE 


GIRLS  OF  A  FEATHER. 


Xfbrars  of  popular  fiction 
*lo.  31 

- 

GIRLS  OF  A  FEATHER 


BY 


MRS.  AMELIA  E.  BARR 

' 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  BEADS  OF  TASMF.R,"  "THE  MATE  OF  THE  'EASTER 

BELL,'"  "FRIEND  OLIVIA,"  "THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  MCNEIL," 

"A  SISTER  TO  ESAU,"  ETC. 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 
MEREDITH   NUGENT 


NEW  YORK 

THE   AMERICAN   NEWS  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS'  AGENTS 


ps 


OOPTEIOHT,  1893, 
BT  BOBERT  BONNKB'S  SONS. 


(Att  riglitt  reterved.) 


GIRLS  OF  A  FEATHER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"CAN   YOU   DOUBT   IT?" 

"  But  men  await  the  tale  of  love, 
And  weary  of  the  tale  of  Troy." 

NONE  of  the  events  of  life  seem  to  have  such  a 
pronounced  fatality  as  those  which  refer  to 
love  and  to  death.  Who  among  us  has  the 
oracle  of  his  grave  ?  Who  can  tell  under  what  skies 
it  will  be  dug ;  or  at  what  time  ?  And  the  uncer 
tainty  of  dying  is  not  greater  than  that  of  loving.  A 
man  may  walk  daily  among  the  fairest  women  on 
earth  and  never  know  the  meaning  of  the  word.  He 
may  come  to  an  age  which  fairly  gives  him  warrant 
to  assure  himself  that  he  is  proof  against  the  witch 
eries  of  women.  He  may  even  deplore  his  insensi 
bility  to  them  ;  and  yet  find  that  the  bitterly-sweet 
experience  has  only  been  a  little  delayed — that  in  an 
hour  undreamed-of — without  premonition  or  prepara- 

2061874 


8  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

tion,  lie  falls  serenely  and  carelessly  into  the  deepest 
depths  of  that  half-divine  condition.  • 

Perhaps  no  man  in  New  York  felt  more  certain  of 
his  position  in  this  respect  than  Dr.  Robert  Carter, 
a  physician  of  renown,  a  man  of  great  wealth,  very 
handsome,  and  still  unmarried  though  nearly  forty 
years  old.  He  was  accustomed  to  speculate  on  the 
circumstance ;  and  specially  so  when  the  claims  of 
his  profession  took  him  to  Adrian  Van  Buren's.  He 
had  been  there  one  afternoon,  and  as  his  carriage 
joined  the  stream  of  vehicles  coming  down  the 
Avenue,  he  soon  became  thoughtful,  and  the  enforced 
slowness  of  his  progress  conduced  to  reflection  : 

"  What  a  noble  woman  she  is  !  How  strong,  how 
gentle  and  how  wonderfully  handsome  !  Only,  I  do 
not  feel  her  beauty.  My  heart  beats  no  faster  in  her 
presence.  I  can  forget  her  for  weeks  together.  Yet 
I  wish  I  could  love  her.  I  like  her  father  ;  she  has 
no  embarrassing  female  relatives ;  and  I  ought  to 
marry.  Will  is  always  telling  me  so ;  and  Will  is 
right.  But  I  know  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  love. 
Professionally,  I  have  met  cases  of  '  love  unto  death.' 
Surely  in  the  presence  of  Alida  Van  Buren — a  woman 
who  is  even  physically  divine — I  ought  to  feel  love 
—but  I  do  not !" 

Engrossed  with  such  thoughts,  he  had  nearly 
reached  his  home,  when  he  remembered  that  he  had 
promised  to  call  upon  a  sick  gentleman  living  in  a 
neighboring  street.  He  knew  him  to  be  a  reckless 
speculator,  and  he  had  a  very  shrewd  idea  as  to  his 
physical  trouble. 

"  I  will  wager  my  fee  that  he  is  dying  of  gold  on 
the  brain,"  he  muttered  as  he  went  to  the  chamber 
of  his  patient.  And  he  told  him  so  plainly. 


Can   You  Doubt  It?" 


"  What  have  you  to  do  with  the  money-market, 
Mr.  Shepherd  ?"  he  asked.  "  You,  whose  nervous 
system  is  all  on  the  outside,  and  whose  feelings  are 
refined  by  prolonged  culture.  To  men  of  your  caliber, 
the  money-market  is  only  a  common  form  of  suicide." 
"  What  is  the  world  but  a  money-market,  doctor?" 
"  It  is  a  great  deal  more.  Men  who  make  colossal 
fortunes  do  not  do  so  so  much  from  choice  as  because 
it  is  their  raison  d'  fare.  When  Nature  produces  a 
creature  for  the  special  purpose  of  making  money, 
she  does  not  burden  him  with  nerves  and  with  wants 
and  desires  that  would  scatter  his  forces." 

"  Money-makers  are  necessary  to  progress,  doctor." 
"  Certainly  they  are.  This  is  the  industrial  age, 
and  there  must  be  men  who  are  great  reservoirs  of 
capital.  How  else  could  we  build  railroads  and  lay 
ocean  cables  !  But  consider  the  men  who  make  great 
sums  of  money,  and  you  will  see  that  in  all  business 
matters  they  act  with  the  steadiness  and  the  cer 
tainty  of  instincts.  Culture  impairs  natural  instincts, 
makes  them  hesitating  and  considerate.  You  are  too 
cultured,  Mr.  Shepherd ;  you  will  never  succeed  in 
making  millions  ;  and  I  tell  you,  if  you  continue  the 
effort,  you  will  kill  yourself.  Go  to  the  seaside — to 
the  woods— to  the  mountains — go  anywhere  but  to 
the  money-market." 

The  sick  man  sighed  and  turned  his  head  wearily 
to  the  wall.  And  Doctor  Carter  having  done  his 
duty,  went  slowly  down-stairs.  He  was  buttoning: 
his  gloves  and  thinking  of  his  dinner.  As  he  passed 
through  the  hall,  he  was  arrested  by  the  opening  of 
a  door.  A  small,  slight  figure  ;  a  woman's  face,, 
young  and  lovely  ;  a  soft,  eager  voice — made  poten 
tial  reason  for  his  delay. 


IO  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Doctor  Carter,  how  is  my  father  ?     Is  he  very  ill  ?" 

The  white,  anxious  face  lifted  to  his  face  was  very 
beautiful,  but  that  was  not  the  charm.  It  was  the 
face  for  which  he  had  been  waiting ;  it  was  the  voice, 
which  seemed  to  have  half-forgotten  echoes  in  his 
memory.  No  other  woman  had  ever  touched  him 
in  just  the  same  way.  He  felt  a  right  in  her,  and  a 
determination  to  compass  that  right  the  moment  she 
spoke  to  him.  An  unusual  tenderness  came  into  his 
heart,  and  the  sick  man  acquired  a  sudden  interest 
through  the  sick  man's  daughter.  He  sat  down  by 
her  side  and  entered  into  explanations  and  directions 
not  before  thought  necessary.  He  could  have  re 
mained  with  her  all  day.  Her  eyes  drew  him  like 
magnets  ;  and  when  she  gave  him  her  hand  at  part 
ing  he  hardly  knew  how  to  escape  from  its  clasp. 
When  all  had  been  said,  he  still  held  it ;  and  for  a 
moment  they  looked  silently  at  each  other.  In  that 
moment  her  face  was  imprinted  upon  his  heart.  He 
knew  that  he  must  evermore  carry  the  sweet  im 
pression. 

Robert  Carter  was  nearing  forty  years  old,  and  ac 
customed  to  diagnosticate  both  mental  and  physical 
symptoms.  He  knew  what  had  happened  to  him. 
i  "  I  have  fallen  in  love  at  last,"  he  mused.  "  I  was 
taken  so  absolutely  unawares.  However,  in  real  life," 
he  said  decidedly  to  himself,  "  love  is  the  most  man 
ageable  passion  in  the  world." 

Then  he  wondered  if  he  should  tell  his  brother. 
He  would,  and  then  he  would  not ;  and  yet  he  knew 
his  indecision  was  all  a  pretense  of  indifference.  In 
his  heart  he  was  longing  to  describe  the  loveliness 
and  sorrow  which  had  subjugated  him. 

There  was  indeed  between  Robert  and  Will  Carter 


"Can   You  Doubt  It?"  n 

a  brotherly  affection  which  could  not  endure  reserva 
tions,  although  no  two  men  could  have  been  more 
dissimilar  in  many  respects.  Robert  lacked  all  sen 
timent  and  poetic  tastes  and  was  without  spiritual 
discernments.  No  obstinate  questions  of  "Why?" 
or  "  Where  ?"  ever  troubled  him,  and  no  mere  mat 
ter  of  feeling  was  ever  likely  to  interfere  with  his 
"  getting  on  "  in  the  world.  Will  Carter  cared  very 
little  for  the  world,  but  much  for  the  unfathomable 
inner  side  of  life.  He  was  a  lover  of  nature,  a  fine 
musician,  a  man  who  inhabited  only  his  head  and 
his  heart  and  who  put  all  fleshly  desires  under  his 
feet. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  these  radical  oppositions  in  taste 
and  in  character,  the  brothers  had  a  strong  attach 
ment  for  each  other.  Accustomed  to  give  all  affairs 
of  their  lives  a  mutual  confidence  and  discussion, 
they  derived  from  the  habit  something  of  that  moral 
discipline  which  a  priest  derives  from  "  manifesting 
his  conscience."  And  though  Robert's  many  duties 
separated  them  from  morning'  to  night,  as  soon  as 
they  were  together  again  Will  usually  opened  the 
conversation  by  asking  : 

"  What  has  happened  to  you  to-day,  Robert?" 
The  answers  to  this  question  had  a  certain  mo 
notony  and  yet  a  constant  variety.  Will  saw  the 
world  through  them.  He  had  almost  a  child's  curi 
osity  in  their  recurrence,  for  was  there  not  always 
the  possibility  of  something  wonderful  to  tell  ?  He 
seldom  admitted  that  this  wonderful  element  must 
be  love,  yet  the  thought  and  dream  were  always 
present.  He  had  little  unspoken  disappointments  in 
his  brother's  indifference  to  women  ;  for  though  his 
modest  self-depreciation  forbade  any  personal  hope 


1 2  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

of  marriage,  he  continually  imagined  for  Robert 
some  exquisite  girl-wife,  who  would  be  good,  pure 
and  lovely  as  the  angels  in  heaven. 

It  grieved  him  when  Robert  smiled  away  such 
hopes.  It  grieved  him  still  more  to  hear  women 
slightingly  spoken  of.  He  never  hesitated  to  rebuke 
such  words  and  to  remind  his  brother  of  the  dead 
mother  and  sister  whose  memory  still  sweetened 
their  pleasant  home.  But  as  year  after  year  went 
by,  he  began  to  let  the  idea  of  Robert's  marriage  slip 
away  a  little.  It  grew  fainter  and  fainter  until  the 
girl-wife,  whom  he  had  almost  seen  going  through 
the  house,  filling  it  with  love  and  sunshine,  became 
a  pale  shadow  of  his  first  hope.  He  had  even  ceased 
to  speak  much  to  Robert  on  the  subject. 

"  We  shall  both  wither  away  in  the  rooms  our 
father  built,  and  there  will  be  none  to  come  after 
us,"  he  thought. 

For  it  seems  a  part  of  fruition  that  hope  must 
first  have  been  abandoned.  Destiny  loves  surprises. 
Will  was  not  that  night  even  watching  for  his  broth 
er.  He  was  holding  "  large  discourse  "  at  the  organ, 
In  those  abrupt  shocks  of  startling  melody  which 
prelude  the  "  Messiah  "  and  arrest  and  inspire  the 
mind  with  majestic  contemplation.  Will  was  quite 
voider  their  spell.  He  did  not  hear  his  brother  enter 
the  room,  and  he  did  not  see  him  standing  at  the 
window,  looking  first  at  his  own  iridescent  finger 
nails  and  then  at  the  moving  picture  trampling  down 
the  avenue. 

Nor  did  Robert  interrupt  his  brother.  He  had 
some  sweet  thoughts  for  entertainment,  and  it  was 
near  six  o'clock.  In  a  few  minutes,  he  knew,  the 
butler  would  have  no  hesitation  in  saying,  no  mat- 


Can   You  Doubt  It?" 


ter  what  immortal  melody  was  ringing  through  the 
room  :  "  Mr.  Will,  the  dinner  is  served,  sir."  And 
even  as  he  remembered  this  certain  interruption  it 
was  accomplished  ;  and  Will,  with  the  look  of  a  man 
suddenly  awakened  from  sleep,  came  down  from  the 
clouds  to  the  dining-room. 

He  went  to  his  brother's  side  with  something  of 
the  affectionate  confidence  of  a  child,  and  as  soon  as 
they  were  alone  he  asked  his  usual  question  : 

"  What  has  happened  to  you  to-day,  Robert  ?" 

"  I  have  made  calls  and  delivered  my  lecture. 
And  you?  What  have  you  been  doing,  Will  ?" 

"  I  have  read  and  written  and  walked.  But  it  is 
hard  to  walk  in  the  city  now.  I  want  to  go  to  the 
woods.  I  want  solitude.  I  want  it  a  hundred  miles 
thick  on  every  side.  I  saw  a  starling  shoot  through 
the  square,  swift,  straight  and  resolute.  I  knew  he 
was  going  to  the  country.  I  made  a  rendezvous 
with  him  there." 

"  To-day  I  also  made  a  rendezvous  in  the  country. 
But  it  was  with  a  young  lady." 

"  Robert  !  You  made  a  rendezvous  with  a  young; 
lady  !  Who  is  she  ?  What  is  her  name  ?  Where  is. 
her  habitation  ?" 

"She  is  Mr.  Ambrose  Shepherd's  daughter.  I  do 
not  know  her  personal  name  yet.  She  lives  in  the 
next  street.  Ambrose  Shepherd  is  very  ill.  I  have 
advised  his  removal  into  the  country,  and  his  daugh 
ter  asked  me  if  I  would  visit  her  father  there.  I 
said  I  would." 

"  But  then  ?    That  is  not  all  !" 

"  Not  quite." 

"  For  you  never  go  out  of  town  to  see  patients. 
Robert,  I  ant  amazed  !  I  have  no  proper  words  to 


14  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

express  my  amazement.  I  can  only  use  the  inartic 
ulate  formula  in  '  Little  Dorrit :'  '  It  du  !  It  really 
du  !  !  It  du,  indeed!  / /'  Is  Miss  Shepherd  pretty  ?" 

"  She  has  a  captivating  face  and  manner.  I  am 
afraid,  Will,  she  has  almost  persuaded  me  to  fall  in 
love  with  her." 

"  Robert !  Do  fall  in  love  with  her  !  I  hope  you 
cannot  help  falling  in  love  !  '  I  du  !  I  really  du  !  I 
du,  indeed  !' " 

"  Sensible  people  can  always  help  folly,  Will.  Do 
you  suppose  I  shall  allow  myself  to  fall  in  love  on 
unknown  ground  ?  And  if  I  do  fall  in  love,  I  need 
not  therefore  marry." 

"You  are  talking  uncommon  nonsense,  Robert. 
If  Miss  Shepherd  should  take  it  into  her  head  to 
marry  you  ?  Then  where  would  you  be  ?" 

"  Just  where  I  am,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  In  such  a  case  you  would  be  as 
certain  to  marry  Miss  Shepherd  as  you  would  be  to 
arrive  at  Washington  if  you  got  into  a  train  going 
to  Washington.  And  just  think,  Robert,  how  charm 
ing  it  would  be  to  have  a  lovely  woman  going  about 
these  rooms  !  How  charming  to  hear  her  calling 
your  name  !  To  see  her,  exquisitely  dressed,  sitting 
at  your  side  at  this  very  table  !  What  excellent  din 
ners  we  should  have  !  And  how  perfectly  the  house 
would  then  be  ordered  !  For  one  of  the  miracles 
about  women — even  young  girls — is  that  they  make 
the  most  outrageous  servants  behave  themselves  and 
do  their  duty.  You  know  that  both  of  us  are  afraid 
of  the  servants.  Yes,  we  are,  Robert.  Do  fall  in 
love,  then  !  It  would  be  such  happiness  for  both  of 
us  !" 

"  Tell  me,  Will,  why  should  a  man  sacrifice  every 


11  Can  You  Doubt  It?"  15 

other  consideration  to  one  single  condition  of  happi 
ness  ?  And  it  is  by  no  means  sure  that  domestic  life 
is  the  highest  form  of  human  bliss  and  aspiration." 

"  As  far  as  women  are  concerned,  perhaps  not. 
The  woman  of  to-day  is  such  a  miracle.  If  John 
Milton  wrote  now,  he  would  be  compelled  to  make 
man,  and  not  woman, '  the  defect  of  nature.'  Women 
are  so  much  in  advance  of  us  now.  What  degrees 
they  take  !  What  books  they  write  !  How  eloquent 
they  are  for  the  best  side  of  everything !" 

"  If  Miss  Shepherd  is  one  of  these  miracles,  I  shall 
not  go  to  the  country  to  see  her.  I  greatly  disap 
prove  of  women  who  lecture  and  write  books.  I 
could  not  love  a  woman  who  always  met  me  at  intel 
lectual  sword-point.  I  like  a  girl  to  have  the  bloom 
of  womanhood  upon  her." 

"  Does  the  girl  who  writes  a  book  lose  .any  more 
'  bloom '  than  the  girl  who  reads  what  is  written  ? 
The  highest  education  for  women — " 

"  Is  the  education  that  best  fits  them  for  married 
life.  Marriage  is  a  woman's  highest  destiny." 

"  Very  good,  Robert.  The  men  ought  to  hold  a 
similar  doctrine  of  predestination  about  their  own 
destiny  :  Man's  highest  education  is  that  which  best 
fits  him  for  married  life.  The  one  theory  supposes 
the  other." 

"  Will,  why  do  you  not  fall  in  love  ?  You  seem  to 
have  progressive  ideas  on  the  subject." 

"  I  have  been  very  near  it  often.  I  would  dare  the 
experience  gladly  if  I  could  find  a  suitable  com 
panion  to  dare  it  with  me.  I  am  not  handsome.  I 
am  very  different  to  you,  Robert." 

"  You  are  rich." 

"  Love  is  not  bought  in  the  market-place." 


1 6  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"Oh!  Oh!  O'h!  That  is  just  where  you  are 
wrong,  Will." 

"  A  wedding-ring  may  be  bought ;  but  love  ?  No  ! 
Love  has  no  earthly  equivalent.  May  God  send 
those  together  who  would  fain  be  loved  !" 

With  these  words  he  rose  from  the  table  and  be 
gan  to  light  his  cigar  ;  but  he  accompanied  his  move 
ment  to  a  murmur  of  songs,  which  had  such  a  swing 
of  march  and  melody  that  Robert  felt  it  impossible 
to  resist  the  curious  interest  with  which  it  inspired 
him. 

"What  are  you  singing,  Will?"  he  asked.  "It 
sounds  like  some  incantation.  Whatever  are  you 
doing  with  your  syllables  ?" 

"  I  am  singing  four  lines  from  the  '  Eve  of  Venus.' 
I  wonder  if  it  is  near  her  advent  ?  Listen,  Robert, 
to  the  commands  of  the  great  goddess  : 

"  '  Lovers  become  ;  and  begin  to-morrow, 
You  that  have  not»ever  loved  before. 
Aye,  and  to-morrow  again  be  lovers, 

You  that  have  loved»and  love  no  more.1  " 

The  music  was  sharp  and  poignant  to  the  very  last 
note,  and  when  it  had  rung  itself  out,  Robert  also 
rose.  He  went  to  the  window  and  flung  it  open. 
The  words  and  melody  affected  him  strangely.  They 
were  fastened  in  his  memory  like  a  nail  in  a  sure 
place.  He  wished  to  change  the  subject  entirely, 
and  he  asked  his  brother  : 

"  When  do  you  go  to  the  country,  Will  ?" 
"  In  a  day  or  two.     It  is  very  warm  and  the  city  is 
already  empty." 

"  Perhaps  ;  but  the  country  is  still  emptier.' 

"You  do  not  like  the  country,  Robert?" 

"  No !     I  do  not  like  the  country,  and  life  is  too 


"Can   You  Doubt  It?"  17 

short  to  spend  any  part  of  it  in  a  place  that  is  dis- 
agreeable  to  you.  I  like  the  city.  I  like  the  greet- 
ings  in  the  market-place  and  the  jargon  of  the  clubs 
and  the  gossip  in  the  wide  office  of  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel.  I  like  the  questing  and  the  guessing  and  the 
eager,  angry,  imperious  struggles  of  life." 

"And  so  you  wear  your  heart  and  nerves  and 
brain  away." 

"  Precisely — but  I  live.  Did  you  hear  that  Calvert 
has  fled  with  a  lot  of  money  ?" 

"  What  folly  to  steal  when  it  is  so  much  more 
lucrative  to  cheat." 

"  But  when  a  man  lends  himself  half  a  million  at 
once  ?" 

"  He  is  a  poor  fellow.  Suppose  you  advise  Am 
brose  Shepherd  to  go  to  Stromberg.  I  am  going 
there,  and  I  could  look  after  him  a  little.  I  should 
like  to  know  his  daughter." 

"  Stromberg  is  as  good  a  place  as  any  other.  He 
simply  wants  to  get  beyond  the  jingle  of  gold  and 
the  financial  slang  of  the  Street.  But  that  is  the 
difficulty." 

"  There  ought  to  be  a  Lotus-land  for  our  worn-out 
financiers,  Robert.  A  land  in  which  it  should  be 
always  afternoon,  without  any  afternoon  newspaper." 

"  What  nonsense  !  How  could  you  make  mild- 
eyed,  melancholy  lotus-eaters  out  of  New  York  stock 
jobbers?  If  you  took  them  to  a  veritable  land  of 
Tennyson,  they  would  scramble  up  those  'three 
silent  pinnacles  of  snow ;'  they  would  measure  the 
height  of  each  peak  and  build  a  hut  at  the  limits  of 
the  snow-line.  Very  soon  they  would  organize  a 
joint-stock  hotel  company,  put  up  a  monster  building 
and  incite  the  lazy  inhabitants  to  be^cine  guides  and 


1 8  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

keepers  of  livery-stables.  And  there  would  be  a 
morning  paper,  of  course,  full  of  financial  schemes 
and  real-estate  booms.  In  short,  Lotus-land  would 
soon  become  a  miniature  New  York." 

"  Lovers  of  nature— 

"  I  tell  you,  Will,  lovers  of  nature  are  born  so. 
They  are  a  ready-made  article.  I  am  always  bored 
to  death  in  the  country." 

"  How  can  a  man  be  bored  anywhere,  with  all  the 
resources  of  our  high  civilization  ?" 

"  I  assure  you,  Will,  that  a  capacity  for  being  bored 
is  a  proof  of  our  high  civilization.  The  degree  in 
which  you  feel  ennui  is  the  actual  measure  of  your 
active  power  running  to  waste.  A  country  boor  full 
of  beer  and  bacon  is  not  bored.  He  is  happy  enough 
if  he  may  sit  still  and  convert  beer  and  bacon  into 
flesh  and  blood." 

They  pursued  this  conversation,  until  Will  arrived 
at  the  millennium.  Robert  threw  no  impediments 
in  his  way  there.  He  found  apparent  listening  a 
good  opportunity  for  giving  his  thoughts  their  free 
will ;  and  he  regarded  the  fact  with  some  interest, 
that  they  had  instantly  flown  to  the  girl  he  had  seen 
for  the  first  time  that  afternoon.  He  did  not  analyze 
her  beauty  ;  he  preferred  to  realize  it  in  its  entirety. 
To  consider  her  features,  her  form,  her  air,  her  voice, 
separately,  was  like  pulling  a  rose  to  pieces,  to  count 
its  petals  or  to  find  out  to  what  botanical  family  it 
belonged.  All  in  all,  the  maiden  was  sweet  and 
lovely ;  and  Robert  Carter,  as  he  sat  in  the  gloam 
ing,  half  listening  to  his  brother's  theories  and  quite 
absorbed  in  love's  delicious  dreaming,  was  inclined 
to  let  his  heart  lead  him. 

But  even  philosophical  philanthropists  get  tired 


"Can   You  Doubt  It?"  19 

eventually  of  their  eloquence  ;  and  when  Will  Carter 
had  traced  the  growth  of  brotherly  love  until  it 
brought  forth  the  millennium,  he  said : 

"  I  may  as  well  stop,  Robert.  I  do  not  think  you 
are  as  interested  in  the  millennium  as  you  ought 
to  be." 

"  It  was  a  kind  of  Northwest  passage  there,  Will. 
And,  after  all,  the  millennium  is  so  far  away,  while 
the  probabilities  of  our  ever  reaching  it  seem  to  grow 
less  and  less  every  year.  However,  nothing  pre 
vents  our  going  to  sleep  and  dreaming  it  is  here." 

But  such  was  not  the  dream  Robert  Carter  be 
spoke  ;  for  as  he  went  loitering  and  thoughtfully 
about  the  room,  preparing  himself  for  rest,  he  was 
softly  humming  the  invocation  of  a  far  older  lover : 

"Come,  Sleep  !     But,  mind  you,  if  you  come  without 
The  little  girl  that  I  would  dream  about, 
By  Jove  !     I  would  not  give  you  half  a  crown 
For  all  your  poppy-heads  and  all  your  down  !" 

And  when  the  great  mystery  of  sleep  wrappeth  a 
man  like  a  garment,  how  shall  he  order  what  is  to 
befall  him  in  that  condition?  For  though  Robert 
entered  it  full  of  pleasant  hopes  and  plans,  he  awoke 
weary  and  sad,  with  a  heart  aching  with  a  nameless 
apprehension.  He  spoke  to  his  brother  jestingly  of 
the  matter. 

"  It  was  the  /#//,  Will.  There  could  have  been  no 
other  reason.  I  was  thinking  of  Miss  Shepherd  all 
the  evening.  What  fools  we  mortals  be,  sleeping  or 
waking." 

"  We  may  be  fools,  waking,  Robert ;  but  in  sleep, 
we  get  very  close  to  the  truth  about  ourselves.  One- 
fourth  of  our  time  is  spent  in  sleeping  and  dream 
ing  ;  is  it  likely,  then,  that  the  whole  matter  is  of  no 


2O  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

consequence  ?  Besides,  our  dreams  are  as  individual 
as  our  thoughts." 

"  You  could  not  prove  such  an  assertion  as  that, 
Will." 

"  Oh,  but  I  can !  You  told  me  last  week  one  of 
your  horrible  dreams  after  vivisection ;  and  at  the 
very  same  hour  I  was  dreaming  of  wandering  in  a 
great  wood  and  listening  to  the  green  finches,  who 
were  laughing  and  talking  back  to  each  other.  We 
are  such  stuff  as  our  dreams  are  made  of,  Robert." 

"  All  right.  I  see  Horace  Key  is  going  to  Con 
gress.  At  least  the  Herald  says  so." 

"  And  truth  is  absolute  in  the  pages  of  the  Herald. 
Why  should  Horace  go  to  Congress  ?  Such  a  gay- 
hearted  fellow  !" 

"  Congress  is  generally  considered  a  good  thing." 

"  But  it  is  not  a  cheerful  thing.  Multitudes  of 
people  go  to  sleep  there." 

"  All  business  is,  I  suppose,  rather  dull." 

"  I  think  so.  If  I  call  on  Fred  Lenox,  I  feel  the 
weight  of  his  office  on  my  heart  for  days  afterward 
— the  files  of  big  books,  the  desks  of  awful  height, 
the  bills  and  papers,  the  silent  men  writing,  writing, 
writing — are  a  kind  of  nightmare." 

"  And  yet,  what  thought,  decision  and  action  are 
recorded  in  those  dull  books  !  Every  line  is  the 
work  of  a  considering  brain  and  a  patient  hand.  If 
one  could  read  between  the  figures,  what  romances 
there  are  in  those  dull  books  !  What  records  of  ad 
venture  and  hard  labor !" 

"  You  speak  as  if  work  was  a  man's  highest  con 
dition." 

"Is  it  not?" 

"  No.     If  you  had  listened  to  my  theory  of  the 


"Can   You  Doubt  It?"  21 

millennium,  you  would  understand  that  the  great 
point  of  the  labor  question  will  be  solved  in  it ;  that 
is,  men  and  women  will  have  time  to  work  for  their 
souls  as  well  as  their  bodies.  Work,  for  the  sake  of 
gold,  is  the  superstition  of  an  age  infatuated  with 
money.  It  kills  every  way.  Look  at  Ambrose  Shep 
herd  !  Are  you  going  there  this  morning  ?" 

"  No." 

The  negative  was  sharp  and  final  in  sound,  and 
Robert  Carter  thought  it  expressed  his  fixed  deter 
mination.  He  was  in  that  depressed  condition  which 
often  precedes  some  great  change,  and  whose  domi 
nant  symptom  is  a  dread  of  change.  To  hold  fast  to 
life  just  as  it  was,  in  every  petty  detail,  appeared  to 
him  at  that  hour  the  chief  part  of  wisdom. 

But  as  the  day  went  on  and  he  began  to  take  his 
part  in  its  duty  and  struggle,  the  other-worldness  was 
driven  away,  as  the  mist  is  driven  away  before  the 
advancing  sun.  Then  some  pleasant  thing  hap 
pened,  and  he  had  the  mental  tonic  necessary.  About 
noon  he  called  himself  "coward  "  for  running  away 
from  an  obvious  duty,  because  there  was  a  woman 
in  the  way.  So  that  he  finally  rang  the  Shepherds' 
door-bell  in  a  state  of  virtuous  control,  which  he  be 
lieved  to  be  invincible. 

He  saw  no  one  in  the  hall  but  the  servant  who  ad 
mitted  him.  An  air  of  silence  and  loneliness  per 
vaded  the  house.  It  had  a  certain  effect  on  him, 
and  he  went  softly  upstairs.  He  knew  his  patient's 
room  and  he  pushed  aside  the  door.  There  was  a 
decided  and  intentional  gloom  there,  and  at  first  he 
could  see  nothing.  But  in  a  few  moments  the  in 
terior  was  clear  enough.  Shepherd  was  in  a  deep 
sleep  on  his  bed,  and  his  daughter  sat  motionless  at 


22  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

his  side.  A  closed  book,  was  in  her  hand,  and  her 
head  was  thrown  back  against  the  white-linen  cover 
of  the  large  chair  in  which  she  sat. 

Robert  looked  steadily  at  the  sleeping  man,  and 
then  put  out  his  hand  to  the  girl.  She  took  it,  and 
he  led  her  out  of  the  room.  They  went  silently 
down  the  stairs  together.  His  feet  moved  with  her 
feet,  and  every  step  sent  him  deeper  and  deeper  into 
that  abyss  of  delicious  foolishness  which  is  often  the 
heart's  highest  wisdom.  He  had  frequently  held 
women's  hands  before,  but  never  yet  had  any  hand 
so  wondrously  thrilled  his  being,  so  soft,  so  warm, 
so  natural  in  his  own  it  seemed.  Holding  it,  he 
found  a  link  which  hitherto  he  had  not  missed  but 
which  now  he  could  never  endure  to  lose  again — a 
link  that  was  a  magical  conductor  of  sweet,  vague 
tremors  and  rosy  hopes  and  delightful  fears  and 
darings. 

They  went  into  a  parlor  and  sat  down.  He  felt 
the  silence  awkward,  but  he  had  no  mind  to  break 
it ;  and  so  far  the  sleeping  patient  had  been  excuse 
enough  for  its  enthralling  eloquence.  Miss  Shepherd 
took  the  initiative.  She  said  shyly : 

"  I  read  father  to  sleep." 

"  I  see  the  book  in  your  hand." 

She  rose  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  Father  wanted  the  newspapers.  I  said  they  were 
not  good  for  him.  A  novel  always  puts  him  to 
sleep." 

"  Sleep  is  the  best  physician." 

"  Mrs.  Shepherd  has  gone  to  Stromberg  to-day. 
We  intend  to  rent  a  furnished  house  there." 

"  At  Stromberg?    I  am  glad  of  that." 

"  Father  was  born  near  Stromberg.    When  you 


Can   You  Doubt  It?"  23 


said  he  must  go  to  the  country,  he  would  hear  of  no 
other  place." 

"  It  is  the  best  of  all  places.  Native  air  has  a  sin 
gular  potency.  I  know 'a  man  who  goes  three  thou 
sand  miles  every  year  to  breathe  his  native  air.  He 
believes  it  renews  his  life." 

"  You  said  you  would  come  to  the  country  to  see 
my  father.  Is  Stromberg  too  far  away?" 

"  Not  if  you  wish  me  to  come." 

"  I  do  wish  you  to  come." 

"  Then  no  distance  is  too  far." 

"  Thank  you.     You  are  very  kind." 

"  My  brother  Will  is  going  to  Stromberg  also.  He 
is  the  best  of  good  fellows,  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
find  him  a  pleasant  friend." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.     But  you  will  come  also  ?" 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  ?" 

Her  eyes  were  cast  down  ;  her  cheeks  aflame  ;  her 
white  hands  lying  upon  her  lap.  A  rose  at  her 
throat  dropped  its  white  petals  upon  them.  He 
lifted  the  fragrant  leaves  and  laid  them  in  her  palm, 
and  as  he  did  so  his  eyes  said  what  words  would 
have  been  a  clumsy  vehicle  for — said  in  a  moment 
more  than  he  could  have  spoken  in  an  hour. 


CHAPTER  II. 

DID   NOT   ANSWER   HIS   CASE. 

"Ofair!     O  sweet ! 

As  the  sweet  apple-blooms  on  the  bough  ; 
High  on  the  highest ;  forgot  of  the  gatherers; 

So  thou  !     So  thou  ! 
Yet  not  so,  nor  forgot  of  the  gatherers ; 
High  o'er  their  reach  in  the  golden  air, 

O  sweet !     O  fair  !" 

"Your  father  is  much  better  this  morning,  Am. 
brosia?" 

These  were  Mrs.  Shepherd's  words  as  she  entered 
the  breakfast-room  on  the  day  following  Doctor  Car 
ter's  second  visit.  And  Ambrosia,  having  expressed 
her  pleasure,  the  two  women  sat  down  to  drink  their 
coffee.  The  feeling  between  them  was  a  happy  and 
confidential  one,  though  they  were  not  mother  and 
daughter,  nor  had  the  pretense  of  this  relationship 
ever  been  assumed. 

When  Ambrosia  was  sixteen  years  old,  Miss  Clara 
Vaughn  had  come  to  the  motherless  girl  as  her 
teacher  and  companion ;  and  when  Ambrose  Shep 
herd  made  her  his  wife,  the  romantic  attachment 
[24] 


Did  Not  Answer  His  Case.  25 

which  Ambrosia  had  for  her  teacher  was  not  unfav 
orably  affected  by  the  new  position.  Clara  was  now 
thirty  years  old,  and  Ambrosia  was  twenty.  They 
were  both  beautiful.  In  other  respects  their  unity 
arose  from  their  differences.  Clara  was  of  Puritan 
lineage.  She  had  been  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere 
of  severe  economy,  and  taught  from  her  childhood 
to  keep  her  will  and  her  desires  under  control.  Her 
manner  was  therefore  serene  and  full  of  womanly 
dignity  ;  and  though  she  was  moved  by  her  reason, 
her  sense  of  duty  and  of  justice,  she  was  quite  capa 
ble  of  great  affection  and  of  a  supreme  self-denial. 

On  the  contrary,  Ambrosia  was  moody  and  uncer 
tain  as  an  April  day.  She  was  also  impulsive,  un 
reasonable  and  a  little  tyrannical.  Her  father  adored 
her,  and  she  expected  from  him  such  continual  black 
mail  as  selfish  youth  considers  the  best  evidence  of 
love — trinkets,  sweetmeats  and  plenty  of  pocket- 
money.  In  return,  she  firmly  believed  that  she  loved 
her  father  and  her  step-mother.  She  loved  them  as 
a  girl  loves  those  who  give  her  pleasure  and  who,  as 
yet,  have  demanded  nothing  from  her  in  return. 
Whether  she  could  have  resigned  for  their  sake  her 
own  will,  her  own  happiness  or  her  own  interests 
was  an  undetermined  question.  Many  characters 
are  thought  to  be  storm-proof  which  shrink  at  the 
first  wetting. 

For  Ambrosia  as  yet  looked  at  life  from  a  senti 
mental  point  of  view.  She  was  at  that  mental  stage 
which  finds  Moore  and  Byron  interpreters  of  their 
soul-pangs  ;  and  so,  theoretically,  she  believed  all  the 
world  well  lost  for  love.  But  there  was  also  a  prac 
tical  side  to  the  girl's  nature,  and,  in  the  long  run, 
it  would  possibly  carry  the  day ;  for  Ambrosia  was 


28  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  No,  they  do  not.  I  know  lots  of  good  men  who 
have  flirted  through  the  alphabet.  Some  are  bold, 
open  flirts ;  some  insinuating ;  some  sentimental, 
like  the  curate  of  St.  Azarius,  who  asked  me  last 
week,  in  a  languishing  way,  if  I  believed  in  love- 
marriages,  and  did  I  really  think  it  better  to  have 
loved  and  lost,  etc.,  etc.  ?  Now,  how  can  a  girl  meet 
such  men  but  with  their  own  weapons  ?  However, 
I  do  not  think  Doctor  Carter  is  a  '  flirt.'  I  think  he 
fell  honestly  in  love  with  me.  Men  even  yet  tumble 
into  love  at  once,  over  head  and  heart.  And  when 
they  do  that  kind  of  thing  any  sensible  girl  knows 
the  fact  and  respects  it." 

"  Love  !  Love  !  Love  !  Whence  does  it  spring  ? 
Is  it  not  wonderful,  amid  the  shams  and  worries  of 
our  every-day  life,  what  a  constant  charm  and  fresh 
ness  the  subject  has?  I  cannot  understand  it." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  makes  any  difference  whether 
we  understand  it  or  not.  Some  things  are  nicer  and 
sweeter  for  not  being  understood.  I  was  reading 
yesterday  that  Robert  Burns  was  once  entreated  by 
his  publisher  to  make  the  language  of  his  songs  so 
that  he  could  understand  them.  Burns  answered 
that  he  did  not  care  whether  the  publisher  under 
stood  them  or  not,  adding  that  he  did  not  always 
understand  them  himself.  That  is  the  truth  about 
love-making,  Clara.  Often  we  do  not  understand  it 
ourselves,  any  more  than  Burns  understood  his  own 
singing.  And  I  like  a  feeling  that  has  the  largeness 
of  mystery." 

"You  talk  beyond  me,  Amber.  I  acknowledge 
myself  vanquished.  I  suppose  I  must  leave  your 
affairs  in  your  own  hands."  And  she  rose  with  the 
words  and  hurriedly  left  the  room. 


Did  Not  Answer  His  Case.  29 

Ambrosia  sat  still.  She  was  smiling  to  herself 
and  crimping  with  neat  little  pinches  the  drooping 
lace  around  her  sleeves.  She  had  found  out  from 
Nora  many  things  she  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
tell  her  step-mother.  And  her  imagination  had  been 
stimulated  by  the  reported  life  of  the  two  brothers. 
For  Nora  had  gossiped  with  a  grand  indifference  to 
facts,  or  rather  to  the  perversion  of  them — Robert 
and  Will  Garter's  lives  ,being  a  constant  source  of 
wonder  to  their  S'rtvarits.  For  solitude  is  something 
the  vulgar  and  illiterate  never  can  understand  ;  and 
a  splendid  solitude,  not  arranged  for  the  world  to  see 
but  as  a  simple  adjunct  to  personal  enjoyment, 
affected  them  as  the  lonely  palaces  of  the  "  Arabian 
Nights  "  affect  more  cultured  minds. 

This  morning  Ambrosia  greatly  strengthened  her 
influence  over  the  handsome  doctor,  and  she  knew 
that  when  he  reluctantly  left  her  presence  she  held 
him  by  a  power  as  invisible  as  the  air  and  just  as 
vital.  He  had  remained  with  her  until  all  excuses 
for  delay  were  absurd,  and,  on  leaving,  he  had  pro 
posed  to  return  about  five  o'clock  and  drive  her  in 
the  Park.  He  tried  to  say  that  her  confinement  to 
the  sick-room  had  lowered  the  tone  of  her  nerves, 
and  that  driving  would  be  a  physical  tonic.  Then 
meeting  Ambrosia's  clear,  mirthful  gaze,  he  quickly 
added : 

"  But,  indeed,  it  is  for  my  own  delight  I  ask  you. 
I  am  afraid  I  am  altogether  selfish.  I  hope  you  are 
not  angry  with  me." 

"  When  you  deserve  it  I  will  be  angry  with  you. 
I  cannot  tell  the  time  when  that  will  happen.  But 
it  will  not  be  until  I  have  forgotten  what  your  skill 
has  done  for  my  father."  And  she  made  him  a  grace- 


30  Girls  of  a  Feather. 


ful  movement,  keeping  her  eyes,  bright  and  tender, 
fixed  upon  his  face. 

What  can  a  man  do  under  the  fire  of  such  glances  ? 
He  is  as  powerless  as  were  the  waxen  images  of  the 
enchanters  before  their  magical  fire.  When  a  woman 
has  a  lover  in  this  condition,  if  she  only  sing  the 
right  song  to  her  charming,  there  is  no  pain  that  is 
not  sweet  and  no  trouble  that  is  -not  rest  for  her 
sake. 

And  Robert  Carter  was  ndt^c?Le  of  those  lovers 
trained  on  the  hard  race-course  of'  society.  From 
such  no  one  expects  self-forgetfulness,  devotion  or 
the  folly  of  loving  for  love's  sake,  any  more  than  they 
expect  flowers  to  grow  on  the  street  pavement. 
Robert  Carter  had  still  the  capacity  of  loving  with 
all  his  heart  and  soul.  The  constant  society  of  his 
brother  had  kept  him  within  touch  of  the  divinity. 
He  was  flushing  and  blushing  to  his  hopes  and  fears 
as  naturally  as  if  he  were  only  twenty  years  old, 
when  he  bid  Ambrosia  "good  morning,"  when  he 
promised  to  call  for  her  at  five  o'clock. 

Instead  of  going  to  his  next  patient,  he  went  to  a 
florist's  and  bought  the  loveliest  of  his  flowers,  and 
sent  them  to  Ambrosia.  He  went  to  Tiffany's  and 
looked  at  some  trinkets,  hoping  that  at  some  time 
he  would  have  the  right  to  buy  them  for  her.  He 
went  to  his  tailor's  and  ordered  a  new  suit  of  clothes, 
and  was  so  fastidious  that  the  man  felt  himself  to  be 
already  discussing  the  wedding  garments.  For  the 
first  time  in  all  his  professional  career,  the  sufferings 
and  complaints  of  his  patients  bored  him. 

Ambrosia  had  seemed  pleased  with  his  admiration, 
but  he  was  not  sure  that  she  was  in  earnest,  and  until 
he  had  resolved  this  question  all  others  appeared 


Did  Not  Answer  His  Case.  31 

tiresome  and  uninteresting.  Yet  he  had  only  known 
her  three  days,  and  she  seemed  to  have  come  into 
his  heart  long,  long,  long  ago.  He  wondered  most 
of  all  at  this  feeling,  for  he  had  not  considered  that 
real  love  is  of  the  nature  of  God  and  therefore 
eternal.  The  heart  always  knows  its  own,  and  it  al 
ways  will  know.  Into  its  best  affection  there  will 
come  much  of  remembrance,  a  sense  of  familiarity, 
the  tolerance  for  foibles  which  in  some  way  or  other 
seem  to  be  kindred. 

Robert  hoped  in  some  measure  that  night  to  satisfy 
his  restless  feelings.  He  intended,  as  they  rode 
home  in  the  twilight,  to  say  to  Ambrosia :  "  I  love 
you.  Can  I  teach  you  to  love  me  ?"  He  intended 
to  tell  her  how  bewitching  she  was.  Above  all,  he 
wished  to  assure  her  that  she  had  the  first  real  hom 
age  of  his  heart. 

He  told  her  the  last  two  things  first ;  which  was 
unwise.  Ambrosia  knew  she  was  bewitching.  Others 
had  felt  her  charm,  and  in  many  ways  had  told  her 
so.  She  had  been  two  years  in  society,  and  flowers 
and  evening  drives  were  not  strange  pleasures  to 
her.  The  passionate  feeling  which  led  Robert  Car 
ter  to  offer  them  was  understood  by  Ambrosia,  and 
not  altogether  trusted.  Men  did  such  things  far 
oftener  than  they  justified  them  by  one  or  two  simple 
questions. 

And  as  for  being  his  first  love,  the  idea  almost 
shook  her  confidence  in  him.  All  men  said  precisely 
the  same  thing.  Jenny  Fellowes — who  had  married 
a  rich  old  admiral — had  been  asked  to  believe  an  ex 
actly  similar  statement  from  the  roving  sailor.  Jenny 
had  told  her  so.  It  suddenly  struck  Ambrosia  that 
the  affair  was  maturing  too  rapidly. 


30  Girls  of  a  Feather. 


ful  movement,  keeping  her  eyes,  bright  and  tender, 
fixed  upon  his  face. 

What  can  a  man  do  under  the  fire  of  such  glances  ? 
He  is  as  powerless  as  were  the  waxen  images  of  the 
enchanters  before  their  magical  fire.  When  a  woman 
has  a  lover  in  this  condition,  if  she  only  sing  the 
right  song  to  her  charming,  there  is  no  pain  that  is 
not  sweet  and  no  trouble  that  is  not  rest  for  her 
sake. 

And  Robert  Carter  was  noTv<?Le  of  those  lovers 
trained  on  the  hard  race-course  of'  society.  From 
such  no  one  expects  self-forgetfulness,  devotion  or 
the  folly  of  loving  for  love's  sake,  any  more  than  they 
expect  flowers  to  grow  on  the  street  pavement. 
Robert  Carter  had  still  the  capacity  of  loving  with 
all  his  heart  and  soul.  The  constant  society  of  his 
brother  had  kept  him  within  touch  of  the  divinity. 
He  was  flushing  and  blushing  to  his  hopes  and  fears 
as  naturally  as  if  he  were  only  twenty  years  old, 
when  he  bid  Ambrosia  "  good  morning,"  when  he 
promised  to  call  for  her  at  five  o'clock. 

Instead  of  going  to  his  next  patient,  he  went  to  a 
florist's  and  bought  the  loveliest  of  his  flowers,  and 
sent  them  to  Ambrosia.  He  went  to  Tiffany's  and 
looked  at  some  trinkets,  hoping  that  at  some  time 
he  would  have  the  right  to  buy  them  for  her.  He 
went  to  his  tailor's  and  ordered  a  new  suit  of  clothes, 
and  was  so  fastidious  that  the  man  felt  himself  to  be 
already  discussing  the  wedding  garments.  For  the 
first  time  in  all  his  professional  career,  the  sufferings 
and  complaints  of  his  patients  bored  him. 

Ambrosia  had  seemed  pleased  with  his  admiration, 
but  he  was  not  sure  that  she  was  in  earnest,  and  until 
he  had  resolved  this  question  all  others  appeared 


Did  Not  Answer  His  Case.  31 

tiresome  and  uninteresting.  Yet  he  had  only  known 
her  three  days,  and  she  seemed  to  have  come  into 
his  heart  long,  long,  long  ago.  He  wondered  most 
of  all  at  this  feeling,  for  he  had  not  considered  that 
real  love  is  of  the  nature  of  God  and  therefore 
eternal.  The  heart  always  knows  its  own,  and  it  al 
ways  will  know.  Into  its  best  affection  there  will 
come  much  of  remembrance,  a  sense  of  familiarity, 
the  tolerance  for  foibles  which  in  some  way  or  other 
seem  to  be  kindred. 

Robert  hoped  in  some  measure  that  night  to  satisfy 
his  restless  feelings.  He  intended,  as  they  rode 
home  in  the  twilight,  to  say  to  Ambrosia :  "  I  love 
you.  Can  I  teach  you  to  love  me  ?"  He  intended 
to  tell  her  how  bewitching  she  was.  Above  all,  he 
wished  to  assure  her  that  she  had  the  first  real  hom 
age  of  his  heart. 

He  told  her  the  last  two  things  first ;  which  was 
unwise.  Ambrosia  knew  she  was  bewitching.  Others 
had  felt  her  charm,  and  in  many  ways  had  told  her 
so.  She  had  been  two  years  in  society,  and  flowers 
and  evening  drives  were  not  strange  pleasures  to 
her.  The  passionate  feeling  which  led  Robert  Car 
ter  to  offer  them  was  understood  by  Ambrosia,  and 
not  altogether  trusted.  Men  did  such  things  far 
oftener  than  they  justified  them  by  one  or  two  simple 
questions. 

And  as  for  being  his  first  love,  the  idea  almost 
shook  her  confidence  in  him.  All  men  said  precisely 
the  same  thing.  Jenny  Fellowes — who  had  married 
a  rich  old  admiral — had  been  asked  to  believe  an  ex 
actly  similar  statement  from  the  roving  sailor.  Jenny 
had  told  her  so.  It  suddenly  struck  Ambrosia  that 
the  affair  was  maturing  too  rapidly. 


32  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Then  she  assumed  a  manner  that  was  quite  in  op. 
position  to  the  romantic,  affectionate  little  maid  of 
the  last  three  days.  Her  eyes  scintillated  with  fun. 
She  charmed  Robert  anew,  and  then  again  anew 
even  in  her  contradictions.  He  began  to  ask  the 
same  strange  question  that  the  child,  Hartley  Cole 
ridge,  asked  :  "  How  many  Hartleys  are  there  ?" 
How  many  Ambrosias  were  there  ?  He  saw  that 
night  as  many  as  the  various  points  of  interest  or 
conversation  touched. 

They  spoke  of  her  father's  illness  and  its  cause, 
and  Ambrosia,  ignoring  her  previous  sympathy,  said 
with  a  judicial  air : 

"  Men  must  expect  to  suffer  when  they  make  it  the 
sum  total  of  their  lives  to  go  to  the  office  every 
morning." 

Then  they  passed  a  very  pretty  girl,  who  moved 
slightly  to  Ambrosia,  but  whose  greeting  she  de 
clined  to  notice. 

"  That  girl  is  my  enemy,"  she  said  with  a  little 
laugh.  "  I  took  her  dressmaker  from  her  ;  and  she  has 
said  disagreeable  things  about  me  in  consequence." 

"  You  do  not  love  your  enemies,  then  ?"  asked  the 
doctor. 

"  I  should  think  not !  I  have  a  mind  totally  inca 
pable  of  comprehending  such  an  idea." 

"  Yet  it  is  a  matter  of  religion." 

"  Yes,  I  wish  I  was  religious.  It  is  so  sweet  and 
graceful." 

Robert  looked  at  her  and  was  perplexed  and  un 
certain.  The  demure  face,  the  mocking  eyes,  the 
independent  air  puzzled  him.  Was  she  in  earnest, 
or  not  ?  A  carriage  passed  at  the  moment,  and  its 
occupant  bowed  to  Ambrosia. 


Did  Not  Answer  His  Case.  33 

"  That  is  Gertrude  Jones,"  she  said.  "  Do  you 
know  her,  doctor  ?  She  is  one  of  the  ecclesiastical 
lilies  of  Azarius.  You  should  see  how  beautifully 
she  transacts  her  religion  twice  every  Sunday  ;  and 
what  immaculate  toilets  she  wears !  They  must 
come  from  Paris,  and  they  must  cost  a  fortune  ! 
Margaret  Libby  says  they  always  rouse  a  Judas-envy 
in  her  breast.  She  wants  to  stop  Miss  Jones  and  ask 
her : '  Why  are  not  those  costumes  sold  and  the  money 
given  to  the  poor  ?'  Because '  the  poor '  are  Gertrude's 
great  point.  All  the  young  rectors  think  her  angelic  !" 

"  I  remember  hearing  a  lady  say  that  Miss  Jones 
dressed  as  well  as  an  English  duchess." 

"  Oh,  what  a  libel — on  Miss  Jones  !  Her  toilets  are 
Parisian  to  the  last  bow.  She  is  noted  for  her  ex 
travagance  in  dress.  She  has  more  jewels  than  she 
can  ever  wear." 

"  Is  such  extravagance  right  ?  Is  she  any  happier 
for  it  ?  There  is  an  old  proverb  which  asserts  that 
enough  is  better — " 

"  Better  than  a  feast  ?  I  prefer  the  feast,  decidedly. 
There  is  something  enchanting  in  a  splendid  waste. 
I  have  often  wished  to  buy  all  the  silk  and  lace  I 
fancy.  How  my  money  would  slip  and  slide  and 
glide  away  like  water  into  sand." 

He  looked  at  her  with  wonder  not  unmixed  with 
admiration.  The  audacity  with  which  she  contra 
dicted  all  his  previous  ideas  of  her  character  took  him 
afresh  and,  as  it  were,  by  storm.  He  was  accustomed 
to  women  showing  him  the  seamless  side  of  their 
natures ;  but  here  was  a  girl  who  wanted  to  be  relig 
ious  because  it  was  so  sweet  and  graceful,  and  who 
acknowledged  frankly  that  she  did  not  love  her  ene 
mies  and  did  love  to  be  extravagant. 


34  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Then  he  felt  that  her  moral  bravery  had  smitten 
him  with  mental  cowardice.  She  certainly  could 
have  no  suspicion  that  he  wished  to  marry  her.  It 
would,  therefore,  be  premature  to  speak  to  her  on 
that  subject ;  it  might,  indeed,  be  wiser  to  wait  until 
he  understood  her  better.  He  was  silent  but  a  few 
moments,  but  Ambrosia  divined  what  he  was  saying 
to  himself. 

"  And  quite  right,"  was  her  quick  mental  response. 
"  I  know  as  little  of  him  as  he  does  of  me.  I  dare 
say  we  have  both  much  to  learn." 

They  were  at  this  time  on  the  Avenue,  and  Robert 
was  walking  the  horses  home.  The  dusky  evening 
was  sweet  and  warm  ;  there  were  a  few  stars  in  the 
sky  and  the  lamps  were  lit  on  the  street.  As  they 
passed  the  Carters'  house,  Will  came  to  the  open 
window  and  saw  them.  Even  in  that  light  they 
were  sensible  of  the  brightening  of  his  face  and  hi? 
eager  recognition.  His  pleasure  was  so  vivid  as  to 
be  communicable. 

"  That  is  my  brother,"  said  Robert,  proudly,  "  mj 
brother  Will.  I  think  it  is  a  good  thing  to  kno\* 
Will,  and  I  hope  you  may  do  so  very  soon.  He  if 
going  to  Stromberg." 

She  said  she  hoped  so,  and  that  she  was  glad  he 
was  going  to  Stromberg  ;  and  her  voice  was  low  and 
soft,  and  her  bright  face  thoughtful,  almost  sad. 

"  And  we  are  nearly  at  the  end  of  our  drive,  doc 
tor,  and  I  shall  remember  it  very  often.  It  has  been 
such  a  great  pleasure." 

She  was  the  first  Ambrosia  now,  and  Robert 
longed  even  then  to  say  something  sweetly  definite 
to  her.  But  she  was  busy  with  her  wrap,  and  had  so 
evidently  the  good-bye  air  which  intimates  the  end 


Did  Not  Answer  His  Case.  35 

of  an  enjoyment  that  he  felt  how  out  of  tune  any 
note  of  iove  would  be  in  such  a  commonplace  scale. 

After  all,  he  had  not  had  the  satisfaction  he  had 
hoped  from  the  drive.  He  was  happy  and  yet  un 
happy.  He  was  in  love  with  two  different  Ambro 
sias,  and  quite  sure  he  had  not  seen  the  entire  num 
ber.  How  many  girls  in  one  were  there  ?  Was  it 
possible  any  could  be  unlovely — so  unlovely  as  to 
shadow  the  beauty  of  all  the  others  ? 

Will  scouted  the  idea. 

"  A  pretty  lover  you  are,  Robert,  to  imagine  im 
perfections  where  you  have  not  even  seen  it.  For 
my  part,  I  should  refuse  to  believe  she  had  a  fault 
even  if  it  was  under  my  eyes.  I  am  certain  she  is 
simply  perfect.  How  old  is  she  ?" 

"  I  dare  say  she  is  twenty ;  perhaps  more.  Be 
tween  twenty  and  thirty  a  New  York  girl  is  a  sphinx. 
No  man  can  tell  her  age.  Do  you  remember  those 
delightful  lines  of  Sappho's  you  read  to  me  the  other 
night?  They  describe  so  well  a  great  number  of 
lovely  unmarried  girls." 

"  Yes,  I  remember : 

"'O,  fair!     O,  sweet! 
As  the  sweet  apple-blooms  on  the  bough, 
High  on  the  highest,  forgot  of  the  gatherers, 
So  thou  !     So  thou  !'  " 

"  That  is  what  I  mean.  Sweet  blooms,  but  forgot 
of  the  gatherers." 

"  But,  Robert,  you  have  only  heard  the  half.  The 
other  half  explains  why  forgot  of  the  gatherers  : 

"  '  Yet  not  so,  not  forgot  of  the  gatherers, 
But  high  o'er  their  reach  in  the  golden  air 
O,  sweet !     O,  fair  !' 

High  o'er  their  reach  f    That   tells  the  tale,  Robert. 


36  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Women  are  now  so  cultured,  so  learned,  so  inde 
pendent,  so  fastidious — so  what-not — that  a  man  has 
to  be  a  Goliath  of  self-conceit,  to  try  to  reach  them. 
'  Up  in  the  golden  air,  so  sweet,  so  fair '  are  they  !  I 
do  not  even  try.  They  would  naturally  be  above 
my  stature.  Perhaps  some  simple  country  girl  will 
have  me." 

"  Are  you  still  so  ignorant  about  the  country  girl  ? 
Of  all  the  daughters  of  Mr.  Worldly- Wise-Man,  she 
is  now  the  cleverest.  Her  simplicity  has  become  as 
much  a  fable  as  any  of  Baring-Gould's  Myths  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  She  would  be  deeply  offended,  if  you 
supposed  her  one  ribbon  behind  her  city  sister  in 
the  fashions  ;  or  on  one  cent  behind  any  one,  in  her  ap 
preciation  of  money.  She  goes  to  colleges,  and  she 
writes  for  the  newspapers,  and  she  has  turned  the  old 
farm-house  into  a  villa  or  a  mansion.  The  country 
girl  is  an  extinct  species.  You  are  too  late." 

"  We  shall  see.  I  am  off  to  Stromberg  to-morrow. 
Summer  between  stone  walls  is  not  summer.  I  am 
going  to  the  very  tip-top  of  the  highest  mountain, 
I  want  to  be  alone,  utterly  alone,  with  the  earth  and 
the  sun  for  a  day  or  two.  Will  you  corne  to  Strom- 
berg  at  the  week  end  ?" 

"  If  my  business  will  let  me." 

"  What  a  deal  of  time  men  waste  in  business  \ 
Take  a  month  or  two,  Robert ;  a  month  or  two  to 
fall  in  love  and  get  married." 

"  When  a  woman  is  as  variable  as  water,  how  dare 
you  adventure  her." 

"  There  is  a  safe  little  boat  called  '  matrimony.'  I 
have  read  that  you  could  tame  the  sea  if  you  could 
only  marry  it.  Every  one  has  a  weak  point.  Inci 
dentally,  I  heard  to-day  that  Miss  Shepherd's  weak 


Did  Not  Answer  His  Case.  37 

point  is  her  brother  Tom — her  evasive,  elusive,  un 
reliable  brother,  Tom  Shepherd." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  him  ?" 

•"  Never,  until  to-day.  He  came  into  the  club  this 
afternoon  with  Captain  Atkins.  When  they  left,  I 
heard  the  remarks  made.  They  may  be  true  ;  it  is 
just  as  likely  they  are — mistakes." 

"  What  of  his  appearance  ?" 

"  He  is  gentlemanly  and  very  handsome.  It  was 
mainly  young  Starit  who  criticised  Shepherd  ;  and 
you  know  the  Starit  family  admire  only  the  Starits. 
Besides,  Starit  was  telling  about  his  trip  around  the 
world,  and  he  was  annoyed  at  Shepherd's  interfering 
with  one  of  his  audience." 

"  I  suppose  he  has  seen  wonders." 

"There  is  an  old  sailor,  in  nautical  annals,  who 
once  from  the  topmast  had  a  vision  of — 

'  Jerusalem  and  Madagaskee, 
And  North  and  South  Amerikee, 
And  the  British  fleet  a-ridin'  at  anchee, 
And  Admiral  Nelson,  K.  C.  B.' 

But  that  old  sailor  saw  nothing  in  comparison.  For 
young  Starit  the  earth  has  surrendered  all  her 
marvels.  Are  you  interested  in  his  experiences?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  am  tired,  Will,  awfully  tired. 
What  time  do  you  go  to-morrow  ?  Or  shall  we  say 
4  farewell '  to-night  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  off  when  the  dapple-gray  clouds  bring 
up  the  dawning;  and  the  happy  do  not  say  'fare 
well.'  We  shall  meet  again  in  a  few  days." 

"  Good  night,  then,  and  a  happy  journey." 

"  All  right.  Get  a  sound  sleep  and  see  Miss  Shep 
herd  in  the  morning." 

But  though  left  to  himself,  Robert  did  not  go  to 


38  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

sleep.  He  sat  and  dreamed,  waking ;  that  was  his 
pleasure,  his  rest,  the  way  in  which  he  prepared 
himself  for  the  morrow.  He  had  resolved  to  be 
awake  when  Will  left,  but  he  watched  just  long- 
enough  to  be  in  a  deep  sleep  at  daybreak.  When  he 
returned  to  himself  the  sun  was  high  and  the  world 
was  busy. 

He  went  to  Broadway  and  sent  flowers  to  Am 
brosia  ;  but  he  resolved  not  to  call  at  Mr.  Shepherd's 
until  the  afternoon.  Just  as  he  was  thinking  of  going 
there,  he  saw  Ambrosia  on  the  Avenue.  She  had  a 
gentleman  with  her.  He  was  talking  earnestly  to 
her,  and  Ambrosia,  walking  with  downcast  eyes 
and  gravely  listening,  was  beautiful  as  a  woman 
could  be. 

As  he  passed,  she  raised  her  head  and  gave  him 
one  magical  glance.  But  after  this  a  perverse  con 
tradiction  kept  them  apart.  He  called  every  day  on 
Mr.  Shepherd  ;  he  delayed  his  visits  beyond  all  medi 
cal  reason  ;  but  Ambrosia  was  always  out.  She  had 
shopping  to  do,  her  step-mother  said,  and  a  modiste 
to  wait  upon  and  her  arrangements  to  make  with  the 
library  and  friends  to  call  upon,  etc. 

It  mattered  little  to  Robert  what  was  the  cause  of 
her  absence,  the  fact  of  it  was  the  trial  he  had  to 
contend  with.  And  he  did  not  conceal  from  Mrs. 
Shepherd  that  it  was  a  very  hard  trial.  For  when  a 
man  has  decided  that  a  certain  good  thing  is  within 
his  reach  and  then  finds  continual  obstacles  in  his 
way,  he  cannot  help  the  sensation  of  being  rather 
cruelly  dealt  with. 

And  he  missed  Will  so  much.  He  had  no  one  to 
talk  to ;  no  one  at  least  to  urge  him  to  do  the  thing 
he  wished  to  do  ;  the  only  kind  of  advice  that  is  ac- 


Did  Not  Answer  His  Case.  39 

ceptable.  Indeed,  after  Ambrosia  had  left  New 
York,  he  was  so  restless  and  unhappy  that  he  invited 
a  very  wise  old  friend  to  dine,  and  then  to  him  par 
tially  revealed  the  state  of  his  heart. 

And  this  friend  followed  the  usual  laws  prescribed 
for  such  a  condition — he  warned  Robert  against  the 
wiles  of  women  and  the  dangers  attending  marriage. 
He  used  several  young  men  of  his  own  acquaintance 
as  warning  and  morals  to  point  his  lecture,  and  Doc 
tor  Carter  listened  attentively,  and  answered  : 

"  Your  advice,  captain,  may  be  all  very  good  and 
so  forth ;  and  in  fact  it  is  very  good  and  so  forth — 
but — but — but — "  and  he  shook  his  friend's  hand 
and  went  off  through  Madison  Square,  whispering 
to  himself :  "  But  it  does  not  answer  my  case  ;  not 
at  all '" 


CHAPTER  III. 

EVERY   FATE   HAS   ITS   HOUR. 

"  A  girl  with  her  heart  untouched, 
In  the  happy  morning  of  life  and  May." 

"  It  wanteth  but  a  little  wind, 
To  make  the  blossoms  fall ; 
It  wanteth  but  a  brave  fond  lover, 
To  win  me,  heart  and  all." 

"  For  all  things  come  by  fate  to  flower 
At  their  unconquerable  hour." 

There  was  a  reason  for  the  perverse  fatality  which 
appeared  to  keep  Doctor  Carter  and  Ambrosia  apart. 
It  was  a  fatality  which  had  its  origin  in  Ambrosia's 
will.  She  had  been  alarmed  by  the  rapid  growth  of 
her  intimacy  with  Doctor  Carter.  She  saw  that  he 
was  a  man  likely  to  be  very  much  and  very  eagerly 
in  earnest,  and  she  was  not  quite  sure  of  her  inclina 
tions.  She  liked  him,  but — oh,  dear  ! — she  did  not 
wish  to  have  that  liking  catachised — at  any  rate,  just 
yet.  A  woman  may  desire  with  all  her  heart  to  take 
a  certain  road,  but  she  still  prefers  to  dally  a  little 
with  what  possibilities  are  left ;  she  wants  some  sen 
timental  retrospections  ;  some  interesting  tremors  ; 
[40] 


Every  Fate  Has  Its  Hour.  4* 

some  delays ;  and  some  encouragements  for  the 
future. 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  have  to  marry,"  she  said  to  her 
step-mother ;  "  but  matrimony  is  like  a  close,  high 
gate ;  any  girl  wishes  to  stand  a  little  while,  with 
her  hand  upon  the  latch." 

"  I  never  saw  you  so  timid  before,  Amber." 

"  Ah,  the  others  were  different.  I  knew  they 
meant  no  more  than  I  did,  but  Doctor  Carter  is  in 
earnest.  He  will  ask  me  to  be  his  wife,  and  if  I  say 
'  yes '  I  shall  be  his  wife  before  I  know  what  has 
happened.  It  is  the  irrevocable  which  makes  me 
hesitate." 

"  He  will  be  here  this  morning." 

"  I  cannot  see  him  this  morning.  I  have  had  a 
letter  from  Cousin  Bessie.  She  wants  me  very  par 
ticularly.  I  have  not  seen  Bessie  for  a  week,  and  I 
do  not  know  what  she  is  going  to  do  this  summer." 

Now  every  girl  has  a  chosen  confidante,  to  whom 
she  imparts  her  triumphs  and  as  many  of  her  failures 
and  annoyances  as  she  thinks  conduce  to  make  her 
enviable  and  interesting.  And  Bessie  Madison  was 
not  only  Ambrosia's  confidante,  she  was  also  her 
cousin.  They  had  liked  each  other,  been  jealous 
of  each  other,  quarreled  and  made  up  quarrels,  all 
of  their  conscious  lives,  and  were  still  upon  terms  of 
womanly  friendship,  which,  however,  is  friendship 
of  an  exceedingly  delicate  character. 

So,  after  her  drive  with  Doctor  Carter,  Ambrosia 
f  2lt  a  natural  desire  to  see  her  cousin  Bessie.  She 
said  :  "  I  am  anxious  about  Uncle  Madison,  who  has 
not  been  feeling  well  lately.  Bessie  spoke  of  getting 
him  tc  take  an  ocean  voyage.  I  wish  he  and  Bessie 
would  go  and  take  me  with  them." 


42  Girls  of  a  Feather, 

"  I  should  not  like  you  to  go,  Ambrosia,  in  the 
present  state  of  your  father's  health." 

"  I  dare  say  father  would  like  me  to  go — but  I 
shall  stay  with  you,  of  course.  I  do  hope  Bessie  is 
going — and  I  must  see  uncle.  I  have  been  quite 
uneasy  about  him." 

Mrs.  Shepherd  was  not  deceived  by  this  pretended 
interest  in  Uncle  Madison  ;  and  Ambrosia  knew  she 
was  not  deceived.  But  the  wonderful  thing  in  this 
tacit  understanding  between  women  is  that  such  bits 
of  deception  are  universally  accepted  and,  if  neces 
sary,  defended.  Both  women  were  well  aware  that 
Ambrosia  wished  to  discuss  Doctor  Carter  ;  but  both 
tacitly  agreed  that  the  discussion  should  be  called 
"  Uncle  Madison  and  an  Ocean  Voyage." 

Ambrosia  dressed  herself  with  as  much  care  as  if 
she  were  going  to  a  matinte.  Doctors  went  into  all 
parts  of  the  city  ;  besides,  she  intended  to  return  by 
Broadway  ;  and  the  possibilities  and  probabilities  of 
Broadway  are  beyond  even  a  woman's  divination.  It 
was  also  a  lovely  morning,  and  the  sunshine  tempted 
her  to  put  on  her  newest  spring  costume.  Amber 
never  reasoned  away  such  enticements  :  "  What  are 
really  nice  temptations  for  if  you  do  not  give  way  to 
them?"  she  asked  herself,  softly,  as  she  smoothed 
down  the  perfectly  fitting  basque  and  made  reflec 
tions  on  the  becoming  character  of  tailor-made  suits. 

She  was  trig  and  pretty,  so  like  a  jaunty  song-bird 
in  its  fresh  spring  plumage,  that  she  resolved  to 
parade  herself  upon  the  Avenue  a  little,  before  visit 
ing  her  cousin.  And  as  she  walked,  she  met  her 
brother  Tom.  He  was  going  to  the  Hoffman  for  his 
breakfast,  and  he  said  : 

"  Turn  back  a  few  blocks  with  me,  Amber.    You 


Every  Fate  Has  Its  Hour.  43 

are  as  pretty  as  a  picture  this  morning.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  about  father." 

And  it  was  as  she  walked  by  his  side,  listening  to 
his  grave  complaints  about  the  business,  that  she  met 
Doctor  Carter.  And,  as  the  doctor  did  not  know  her 
companion  was  Tom  Shepherd,  he  was  annoyed. 
An  irritable,  what-is-the-matter  feeling  possessed 
him  all  through  his  business  ;  and  as  he  did  not  see 
Ambrosia  when  he  called  on  Mr.  Shepherd  in  the 
afternoon,  he  took  the  fretful  question  home  with 
him,  and  found  it  trouble  both  his  dinner  and  his  rest. 

Ambrosia  had  no  such  uncomfortable  companion. 
It  rather  pleased  her  to  speculate  upon  the  doctor's 
curiosity.  She  either  saw,  or  fancied  she  saw,  a 
shadow  of  painful  chagrin  on  his  face  ;  and  she  was 
not  averse  to  him  feeling  some  of  the  minor  pangs 
of  jealousy. 

"  Thank  goodness,  it  was  Tom,"  she  mused.  "  Tom 
is  handsome  and  well-dressed  and  young.  I  do  not 
want  Doctor  Carter  to  think  that  my  drive  with  him 
has  driven  the  images  of  all  other  men  out  of  my 
horizon.  I  wonder  how  he  feels  ?" 

She  had  the  faint  smile  of  this  wonder  on  her 
lips  when  she  reached  her  cousin's  home.  It  was  a 
large  house  on  the  Avenue,  but  extending  westward 
down  the  adjacent  street.  The  windows  were  open, 
their  sills  full  of  flowers  and  the  lace  curtains  behind 
softly  blowing  in  the  southern  breeze.  But  the  hall 
was  dusk  and  cool ;  and  as  soon  as  she  was  well  in 
its  shadow  she  saw  her  cousin  Bessie  standing  at  the 
head  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs. 

"  I  saw  you  coming,  Amber.  I  was  watching  for 
you.  I  knew  you  would  be  here  this  morning.  I 
am  so  glad  !  Isn't  it  warm  ?" 


Girls  of  a  Feather. 


She  was  talking  in  such  little  sentences  all  the 
time  that  Ambrosia  leisurely  climbed  toward  her. 
And  the  picture  she  made  on  the  dusky  stairway 
was  a  very  pretty  one.  She  was  such  a  slight  little 
woman  ;  she  had  such  black  hair  ;  such  brown  eyes  ; 
such  delicate  features  and  such  exquisite  color  on  her 
oval  cheeks !  She  was  dressed  in  white,  and  she 
held  out  her  small  hands,  flashing  with  diamonds, 
toward  her  cousin  with  such  a  charming  expression 
of  welcome  in  them. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Amber  !  How  is  Uncle 
Ambrose  ?  And  Mrs.  Shepherd  ?  I  said  to  father, 
this  morning,  I  felt  you  were  coming.  What  a 
pretty  costume  !  Tailor-made.  Redfern,  of  course  ; 
no  other  maker  keeps  himself  up  to  his  ideal  so  per 
fectly.  Not  a  wrinkle  !  Not  the  shadow  of  one  !" 

"  It  is  pretty,  and  it  does  fit  well,"  answered  Am 
brosia,  as  she  turned  herself  round  before  Bessie's 
long,  mirror. 

"  But  it  must  be  uncomfortable.  Take  it  off.  Here 
is  a  nice  wrapper.  We  are  going  to  have  something 
to  eat  and  a  long  talk.  Whew !  I  know  how  de 
licious  is  that  long  sigh  when  the  last  button  is 
loosed.  Take  off  your  boots,  too,  Amber.  They  are 
lovely,  but  I  dare  say  they  pinch  ;  mine  always  do." 

"  They  are  a  little  tight." 

"  Then  take  them  off,  and  make  your  feet  happy, 
also." 

As  Ambrosia  leisurely  obeyed  these  directions,  Bes 
sie  struck  a  small  hand-bell,  and  a  girl  answered  it. 

"  Daly,"  she  said,  "we will  have  lunch  here  ;  some 
chicken  salad  and  two  sherbets  and  chocolate.  Be 
sure  to  whip  the  cream  ;  and,  Daly,  some  fresh  straw 
berries  and  plenty  of  cream  for  the  berries."  Then. 


Every  Fate  Has  Its  Hour.  45 

turning  to  Ambrosia,  who  had  slipped  into  a  large 
soft  chair :  "  Isn't  it  nice  to  be  natural  ?  No  wonder 
the  Greek  women  were  graceful  and  elegant.  They 
did  not  have  to  wear  corsets." 

"  I  wonder  if  they  ever  grew  stout  ?" 

"  Of  course  not.  The  idea  is  an  impossible  one. 
They  would  never  think  of  such  a  thing.  But  I  have 
heard — of  course,  I  do  not  credit  it — but  I  have 
heard,  really,  that  Miss  Longview  sleeps  in  her 
corset." 

"  Who  told  you,  Bessie  ?" 

"  Lemarque  told  me.  She  said  :  '  There  is  some 
pleasure  in  making  dresses  for  Miss  Longview.  She 
is  so  anxious  to  do  her  costumer  justice  that  she 
sleeps  in  her  corsets.  As  for  Miss  Madison  !'  Then 
she  sighed  and  gave  me  one  of  her  hatefulest  shrugs." 

"  Are  you  having  many  new  dresses  made  ?" 

"  No.  I  expect  to  go  to  France  with  the  Martynes, 
and,  of  course — 

"  Of  course  !"  with  an  understanding  nod.  "  But 
I  never  dreamed  of  your  going  abroad  with  the 
Martynes.  Why  did  you  not  send  me  word  ?" 

"  It  was  only  decided  last  night.  I  wrote  once. 
You  know,  father,  dear  father,  is  so  opposed  to  me 
going  to  Europe  without  him.  I  believe  he  has  an 
idea  that  Frenchmen  and  Germans  and  Austrian  s 
and  especially  Englishmen  go  about  like  roaring 
lions  seeking  American  girls  to  devour.  At  first 
father  said  he  would  go,  and  then  he  found  he  could 
not  go  ;  so  I  am  to  be  attached  to  Mrs.  Martyne's 
party." 

"  Well,  she  knows  the  world — that  is,  the  best  so 
ciety  on  the  planet.  I  suppose  Ella  Martyne  will  be 
your  companion." 


46  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Yes,  she  is  going." 

"Do  you  like  Ella?" 

"  She  is  a  nice  girl,  if  she  would  not  sing  such  very 
fine  music  ;  but  when  she  tries  the  '  Jewel  Song  '  or 
*  Casta  Diva  '  I  just  shiver.  I  can't  help  it." 

"  They  are  not  easy  things  to  sing." 

"Then  why  should  Ella  try  to  sing  them?  It 
would  be  so  very  easy  not  to.  Still,  I  like  Ella ;  and 
she  is  so  clever.  Did  you  know  that  she  has  pub 
lished  her  poems  ?" 

"  I  did  not  know  that  she  had  written  any  poems." 

"  Quite  a  bookful.  Her  mother  is  very  proud  of 
them,  though  she  says  :  '  Nonsense  !  Nonsense  ! 
Only  the  overflow  of  little  Ella's  heart !  The  child 
is  very  emotional !'  " 

"  Where  can  I  get  a  copy  ?" 

"  At  Brentano's,  of  course.  They  are  published 
cheaply  at  a  dollar  and  sweetly  at  two  dollars — white 
and  gold  and  vignettes  and  so  on." 

"  Have  you  a  copy  ?" 

"  No,  I  did  not  buy  one.  I  thought  Ella  would  be 
sure  to  give  me  one.  It  does  seem  like  wasting 
money  to  buy  books,  unless  it  be  a  very  nice  novel. 
Novels  tell  you  something  about  love,  and  love  has 
something  to  do  with  marriage,  and  marriage  is  a 
woman's  destiny,  is  it  not,  Amber?" 

"  Those  who  pretend  to  be  well  acquainted  with 
the  intentions  of  Providence  say  so.  But  if  they  are 
right,  I  think  Providence  is  very  unfair  to  the  ugly 
girls." 

"  But  have  you  noticed  that  novelists  are  now  mak 
ing  their  heroines  quite  plain  ?  It  is  the  girl  with 
eyes  full  of  intellect  and  a  massive  forehead  that 
gets  the  hero  now." 


Every  Fate  Has  Its  Hour.  47 

"  On  paper,  they  may  carry  all  before  them  ;  but 
in  real  life  there  is  not  a  bit  of  change,  Bessie.  Men 
keep  right  on  reading  about  the  good,  intelligent, 
plain  girls,  but  they  marry  the  pretty  ones  always. 
Ella  Martyne  is  a  plain  girl,  but  she  is  apparently 
brimful  of  intellect.  So  you  can  make  observations 
this  summer  on  a  plain  girl's  chances.  I  dare  say 
Ella  will  travel  and  scribble  and,  no  doubt,  she  will 
get  you  to  do  the  same." 

"  If  so,  I  hope  I  shall  be  given  sense  enough  to 
keep  the  scribbling  to  myself.  Ella  says  the  pleas 
ure  she  most  anticipates  is  a  visit  to  all  the  great 
libraries  of  Europe." 

"  Poor  Ella !  To  make  her  little  bricks  what  a 
large  supply  of  straw  she  must  require." 

"  Here  is  lunch.  Are  you  hungry  ?  I  hope  so.  I 
did  not  care  for  breakfast  this  morning.  I  wonder 
if  we  shall  have  such  nice  things  to  eat  when  we  go 
to  strange  places.  I  wish  Mrs.  Shepherd  was  here 
to  eat  a  sherbet.  She  always  seems  to  enjoy  a  sher 
bet.  Sit  still,  Amber.  Daly  will  push  the  table 
close  to  you." 

She  was  hovering  round  the  tray,  full  of  delicacies, 
with  the  sweetest  little  intentions  of  hospitality. 
For  to  make  people  happy  was  one  of  the  most  ex 
tensive  "  views  "  of  Bessie  Madison's  life.  She  had 
no  "  missions  "  of  any  other  kind  ;  no  scientific  pro 
clivities  ;  no  theological  doubts  or  social  problems  to 
perplex  her.  She  was  a  very  ordinary  young  lady, 
with  large  affections  and  small  passions  and  mild 
prejudices.  She  was  thoroughly  attached  to  her 
own  family,  ladylike,  sympathetic,  safe  and  tolerably 
sincere  with  the  world.  And  it  is  very  doubtful  if 
any  who  loved  her  would  have  been  willing  to  dis- 


48  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

turb  her  innocent  freshness  and  joyousness  of 
nature  for  the  sake  of  any  deeper  knowledge. 

The  two  girls,  in  their  cool,  loose  garments,  with 
the  dainty  cups  poised  in  their  hands,  their  faces 
flushing  and  smiling,  their  lips  parted  in  merry 
laughter  and  exclamations,  were  really  a  pretty 
picture  ;  all  the  more  so  that  they  had  no  idea  they 
were  charming. 

"  Is  it  not  a  lovely  day  ?  And,  pray,  where  are 
you  going  this  summer,  Amber  ?  To  the  Branch, 
as  usual,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No.  We  are  going  to  Stromberg.  It  is  father's 
native  place,  and  Doctor  Carter  thinks  the  air  may 
benefit  him." 

"  How  is  Uncle  Ambrose  ?  It  is  so  hard  to  think 
of  him  as  ill.  I  am  glad  you  have  Doctor  Carter. 
He  cured  a  lady  who  lives  near  here,  when  every 
one  thought  her  past  hope." 

"  Is  he  so  clever?" 

"  My  dear,  he  is  very  famous." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  him  ?" 

"  Sometimes  I  noticed  him  getting  in  and  out  of 
his  carriage.  I  thought  he  was  quite  handsome,  but 
formal  and  stately.  I  should  imagine  he  was  un 
comfortable  when  his  hands  were  not  in  kid  gloves." 

"  Oh,  you  are  quite  mistaken  !  He  took  me  for  a 
ride  in  the  Park,  and  he  was  real  nice,  quite  inclined 
to  make — well,  to  be  very  attentive." 

"  Fancy  that !  Why,  I  thought  doctors  looked  on 
every  one  as  a  patient." 

Ambrosia  laughed. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  the  dog  in  the  fable,  Bessie. 
He  supposed  that  men  had  been  invented  to  take 
care  of  dogs.  It  is  a  very  common  way  to  look  at 


Every  Fate  Has  Its  Hour.  49 

life.  Lemarque  thinks  you  and  I  and  sundry  others 
were  invented  for  her  to  dress.  Grocers  think  of 
humanity  as  stomachs  to  be  filled.  Teachers,  as 
pupils  to  be  informed.  Managers,  as  fools  to  be 
amused.  So,  perhaps,  doctors  do  regard  us  all  as 
patients  to  be  cured.  Sometimes,  however,  a  doctor 
may  think  of  a  probable  patient  as  a  probable  wife." 

"  That  is  true  ;  and  if  he  cures  your  father,  you 
would  be  very  grateful ;  but,  then,  you  would  not 
feel  that  you  must  marry  him  out  of  gratitude,  would 
you  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  suppose  you  expect  to  marry 
for  love  ?" 

"  For  love  only.  I  have  very  fixed  opinions  on 
that  subject,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  But,  Bessie,  you  will  have  to  get  your  lover  be 
fore  you  go  into  heroics  about  him.  I  declare  I  do 
not  believe  that  men  care  about  being  loved  now. 
They  want  a  wife  that  can  be  a  credit  to  them,  that 
they  are  proud  of — a  wife  that  is  a  visible  '  getting 
on  in  the  world.' " 

"  How  would  you  know  if  a  man  is  really  in  love, 
Amber?  What  kind  of  love  is  the  genuine  article? 
You  have  had  lovers  ;  now,  what  kind  do  you  like 
best  ?  How  do  you  want  to  be  loved  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  how  I  long  to  be  loved !  How 
does  your  mastiff  Sultan  love  your  father  and  you  ? 
He  does  not  care  a  pin's  worth  whether  you  are  rich 
or  poor,  good  or  bad,  respectable  or  not  respectable  ; 
all  he  asks  is  that  you  love  him.  Now,  I  would  like  a 
lover  to  love  me  in  that  canine  way — 

'  From  Ambrosia  to  Ambrosia* 

to  be  the  limit  of  his  thoughts.  Of  course,  I  shall 
never  find  such  a  lover.  They  do  not  exist  now." 


50  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Just  as  much  as  ever  they  did.  Plenty  of  men 
love  like  that.  I  suppose  we  should  have  to  love 
back  quite  as  foolishly.  Say  his  name  was  Harry  ; 

then— 

'  From  Harry  unto  Harry' 

would  be  the  limit  of  our  thoughts.  I  really  think 
that  would  be  a  heaven  upon  earth.  Don't  you, 
Amber  ?" 

"  For  people  who  liked  that  kind  of  thing,  it  would 
be  the  kind  of  thing  they  would  like.  I  am  not  sure 
I  should  like  it.  I  hope  you  may  find  the  lover  you 
are  dreaming  about  when  you  are  in  Europe.  Some 
way,  one  expects  romance  in  Europe  ;  in  America  it 
feels  exotic." 

"  Unless  he  was  an  American,  I  should  only  find 
to  lose  him.  Father  says  there  are  plenty  of  Ameri 
cans  to  pick  and  choose  from.  I  suppose,  if  I  marry 
at  all,  it  will  be  to  some  man  made  to  father's  order  ; 
and  I  cannot  expect  father's  :d?al  to  be  my  ideal." 

"  After  all,  Bessie,  marrying  is  the  state  of  passing 
from  freedom  into  slavery." 

"  May  be.  But  the  remedy  is  in  our  hands.  We 
are  not  forced  to  marry,  and  the  slavery  that  is  vol 
untary  is  no  great  hardship,  is  it  ?  I  should  like  to 
be  married  before  I  am  twenty.  Afte:  .wenty  brides 
do  not  look  so  interesting." 

Thus  they  talked  and  wondered  £  nd  speculated, 
until  the  luncheon  was  eaten  ;  and  then  the  heavi 
ness  of  the  middle  of  the  day  stole  on  them,  and 
they  fell  asleep,  with  their  heads  on  the  same  pillow. 
And  the  window  being  a  little  open,  the  shade 
wavered  in  the  breeze,  and  a  ray  of  sunshine  played 
hide-and-seek  among  their  scattered  hair,  brown  and 
black,  and  made  their  closed  eyelids  luminously 


Every  Fate  Has  Its  Hour.  51 

•white  and  their  pink  cheeks  and  lips  luminously 
rosy.  But  no  one  coming  in,  however  hastily,  could 
for  a  moment  have  doubted  that  this  was  the  soft, 
warm  sleep  of  youth  and  beauty — even  if  the  white 
draperies  had  not  been  colored  by  touches  of  pink 
and  blue  ribbon  and  the  flash  of  diamonds  on  Bes 
sie's  hands. 

When  they  awakened  it  was  after  three,  and  they 
lay  still,  looking  at  the  clock  on  the  mantel,  and 
promising  themselves  to  get  up  and  dress  as  soon  as 
it  was  four.  And  meanwhile  they  talked  to  more 
purpose  of  Bessie's  voyage  and  the  presents  she  was 
to  bring  home — until  a  sudden  thought  struck  Bessie, 
and  she  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked  at  Amber,  in  order 
to  give  it  emphasis. 

"  Perhaps,  you  may  be  married  when  I  get  home 
again — to  the — doctor  !"  * 

Ambrosia  neither  laughed  nor  yet  denied  the  sup 
position.  She  was  admiring  her  white,  well-formed 
hands,  and  she  let  her  eyes  fall  upon  the  finger  which 
might  wear  the  wedding-ring. 

"  But  I  should  think  you  would  not,  dear  Amber." 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  not,  Bessie.  Why,  he  has  not 
even  asked  me  yet !" 

"  But  he  intends  to  ask  you  ?" 

"  Yes.     He  intends  to  ask  me." 

"  How  can  you  tell  that?" 

"  Well,  if  you  see  a  rosebud  you  naturally  expect 
there  will  be  a  rose.  And  given  certain  signs  in  a 
lover,  you  naturally  expect  the  lover  will  grow  into 
the  husband." 

"  What  signs  ?" 

"  Are  you  really  so  ignorant  ?  Well,  Bessie,  this 
is  a  subject  you  have  instinctive  knowledge  about. 


52  Gzrls  of  a  Feather. 

Nobody  can  teach  a  bird  how  to  build  its  nest.  No 
body  can  teach  a  girl  how  to  know  a  genuine  lover. 
All  the  same  she  knows  him  on  sight.  I  have  had 
.  many  lovers  before  Doctor  Carter  but  only  one  real 
lover." 

41  Was  that  Fred?" 

"  Yes,  that  was  Fred.  But  then  Fred  was  ineligi 
ble  in  many  ways." 

"There  was  Harry  Stafford." 

"  Harry  Stafford  will  never  marry  any  woman  ; 
that  is  another  subject  girls  have  instinctive  knowl 
edge  about.  Harry  Stafford,  John  Eccles  and  Ly- 
tnan  Whitney  are  certain  old  bachelors.  They  carry 
a  Cain-mark  on  their  brows,  so  that  no  woman  shall 
marry  them  ;  and  women  know  it !  There  is  not  a 
girl  in  our  set  who  minds  one  word  they  say.  Any 
of  us  would  as  soon  think  of  marrying  a  patriarch 
of  the  Greek  Church.  It  is  only  a  question  of  time, 
and  they  will  disappear  from  all  drawing-rooms  and 
retire,  lonely  and  forgotten,  to  the  cushions  of  their 
club  sofa  and  the  tyranny  of  the  servants  who  keep 
bachelor  apartments." 

Ambrosia  was  buttoning  her  boots  as  she  passed 
this  terrible  sentence,  and  she  gave  her  foot  a  little 
stamp  to  emphasize  its  truth  ;  and  then  she  began  to 
dress  herself  for  the  street.  Bessie  lay  still  on  the 
bed,  watching  her  cousin. 

"  I  like  to  see  you  do  your  hair,  Amber/'  she  said. 
"'  Your  arms  are  so  pretty,  and  they  appear  to  be 
performing  some  mystic  dance  among  your  brown 
braids  and  curls.  I  think  you  are  real  pretty." 

"  Yes,  I  know  I  am  real  pretty." 

"  And  when  a  girl  is  pretty,  diamonds  and  gold 
bracelets  and  ornaments  of  all  kinds  seem  so  natural. 


Every  Fate  Has  Its  Hotir.  53 

I  like  my  diamonds  so  much  !  Why  do  you  not  wear 
some  diamonds?" 

"  I  have  not  many — only  a  scarf-pin  and  a  pair  of 
earring's.  I  intend  to  give  my  husband  the  pleasure 
of  diamonding  me  and  of  otherwise  attending  to  my 
decoration." 

"  Every  one  likes  such  decorations." 

"  I  suppose  every  one  does.  In  point  of  fact, 
decoration  comes  before  dress.  Savages  insist  on 
being  painted,  whether  they  can  afford  a  blanket  or 
not." 

"  Now,  Amber,  do  be  a  nice  girl." 

"  Pray  what  is  a  nice  girl,  Bessie  ?" 

"  A  girl  that  likes  what  other  people  like  and  does 
what  other  people  do.  One  feels  safe  and  comfort 
able  with  such  girls." 

"  Then  let  us  be  safe  and  comfortable  by  all 
means." 

"  Are  you  going  to  walk  home  ?" 

"  There  is  the  stage  and  the  Fourth  Avenue  cars, 
but  both  are  crowded  now.  I  hate  street-car  crowds." 

"  Is  there  a  dog-show  or  a  flower-show?" 

"  Bessie  Madison  !  Do  you  pretend  to  keep  house 
and  not  know  the  more  delicate — I  may  say,  the 
more  respectable — articles  of  food  have  been  scarce 
and  dear  within  the  last  few  days?  Have  you  been 
out  of  the  house  and  not  noticed  the  unusual  num 
ber  of  gentlemen  in  white  neckties  and  ladies  in 
rich,  neutral-tinted  dresses  ?  I  am  sure  the  worldly 
New  Yorker  has  had  plenty  of  signs  that  May  meet 
ings  have  begun." 

"  I  do  not  mind  a  crowd  of  that  kind  ;  they  are  so 
sweet  and  respectable." 

"  Yes ;  the  respectable  is  their  line,  and  they  sue- 


54  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

ceed  in  it.     I  suppose  you  will  sail  on  next  Wednes 
day  ?" 

"  Yes.  Oh  !  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Petwyn  go  as  far  as  Liverpool  with  us.  Miss  Petwyn 
is  to  be  '  introduced '  to  the  queen  on  this  visit. 
You  should  hear  her  talk  about '  her  majesty '  and 
'Albion.'" 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  her  talk.  I  think  American 
girls  katow  far  too  much  to  her  majesty.  I  do  not 
believe  Miss  Petwyn  has  yet  made  her  obeisance  to 
the  divine  Frances,  who  is  really  the  present  repre 
sentative  of  our  own  '  majestic '  Republic.  When  I 
go  to  England,  I  sh«,l!  go  to  see  the  country  and  not 
curtsy  to  the  queen." 

"  The  queen  is  such  a  good  woman.  Mrs.  Petwyn 
says  it  is  the  duty  of  Americans  to  show  they  respect 
her  entirely  respectable  and  virtuous  character." 

"  Entirely  respectable  and  virtuous  characters  are 
not  unknown  in  this  country.  However,  I  have 
nothing  to  say  against  Victoria.  She  always  has 
been  the  best  of  monarchs  and,  as  far  as  I  can  see, 
Albion  rules  her  everlasting  waves  with  the  same 
old  propriety.  How  do  you  like  this  hat  ?" 

"  It  is  very  becoming.  Now,  Amber,  we  must  do 
our  shopping  together ;  so  do  be  here  early  every 
day,  and  bring  the  list  to-morrow  of  the  things  Mrs. 
Shepherd  wishes  me  to  get  for  her  in  France." 

"  I  will.     Good-bye,  dear  Bessie  !" 

"  And  bring  me  word  about  the  doctor !" 

"  There  will  be  no  word.  I  shall  keep  out  of  his 
way  for  a  week." 

"  Is  that  a  good  plan  ?" 

"  Very" 

She  said  the  word  on  the  outside  of  Bessie's  room- 


Every  Fate  Has  Its  Hour.  55 

door.  Bessie  was  on  the  other  side,  and  the  door 
was  a  little  bit  open.  In  the  aperture  their  faces  met 
for  a  moment,  and  then  Amber  went  slowly  down 
the  stairs  and  out  into  the  street. 

After  this  interview,  Ambrosia  was  at  Bessie's 
every  day,  and  the  girls  were  continually  out  to 
gether  on  their  never-ending  real  or  imaginary 
wants.  And  so  Doctor  Carter  always  missed  the 
face  he  longed  to  see.  And  whether  it  was  fate  or 
Mrs.  vShepherd  that  planned  their  next  meeting,  is 
undetermined.  Mrs.  Shepherd  thought  she  might, . 
in  the  doctor's  presence,  have  named  Bessie  Madi 
son's  voyage ;  and  she  might  have  made  some  re 
mark,  leading  Doctor  Carter  to  believe  that  Ambro 
sia  would  be  at  the  steamer  to  see  Bessie  away. 

At  any  rate,  Ambrosia  and  her  brother  Tom  went 
down  to  the  steamer  and,  while  they  were  chatting 
with  Bessie's  party,  Ambrosia  saw  Doctor  Carter 
talking  to  a  lady  who  was  evidently  astonished  and 
delighted  with  such  attention  from  her  physician. 
And  how  it  happened,  Ambrosia  never  very  clearly 
understood,  but  when  the  last  bell  rang  and  the  visit 
ors  were  crowding  the  gangway  for  the  dock,  Doctor 
Carter  was  at  her  side  ;  he  had  her  hand  in  his  hand 
and,  in  some  irresistible  way,  he  had  taken  possession 
of  her. 

Then  her  coupe"  was  out  of  sight,  and  Tom  was 
not  to  be  found,  and  the  doctor  and  his  buggy  were 
both  so  eagerly  at  her  service  that  the  pressure  of 
events  bore  her  with  them  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
she  was  driving  along  Seventh  Avenue  at  the  quickest 
permissible  speed.  It  was  scarcely  ten  o'clock  and  a 
cool,  sunshiny  morning.  The  doctor  had  said : 
"  Shall  we  drive  to  the  Park  ?"  "  Yes,  let  us  drive 


56  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

to  the  Park."  And  Ambrosia  had  not  been  able  to 
put  in  a  negative. 

The  sense  of  proprietorship  grew  stronger  every 
moment  between  them.  It  was  so  sweet !  Ambrosia 
leaned  imperceptibly  toward  her  lover,  and  he  leaned 
toward  her.  She  glanced  shyly  into  his  face,  and 
the  glance  was  met  by  a  beaming,  penetrating,  un 
winking  gaze  of  eager  love.  She  understood  the 
question  in  that  gaze.  She  let  it  sink  into  her  heart. 
The  silence  was  trembling  with  emotion.  She  was 
almost  glad  when  they  reached  a  shady  place  and 
the  doctor  allowed  his  horses  to  walk.  Then  he 
turned  his  face  full  upon  her.  He  spoke  her  name. 
She  answered  him  only  with  a  blush  and  a  tremor, 
which  he  could  feel.  Again  he  spoke  her  name. 

"  Ambrosia !" 

"  Yes." 

"  My  dearest  girl,  I  love  you.  I  love  you  so  well, 
so  entirely,  that  I  cannot  be  happy  if  you  do  not  love 
me  a  little — I  mean,  if  you  do  not  love  me  a  great 
deal  in  return." 

She  was  smiling  and  blushing  divinely,  and  there 
was  something  in  her  very  silence  that  gave  him 
confidence. 

"  I  want  to  marry  you.  I  want  to  have  you  near 
me  all  my  life.  What  do  you  say  ?  Is  there  any  one 
that  you  love  better  than  me  ?" 

"  No  ;  there  is  not." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  love  me  soon  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  it  will  not  be  very  difficult." 

"  You  mean  that  you  will  really  be  my  wife  ?" 

"Yes." 

Then  he  found  all  the  words  he  had  looked  for  in 
vain  during  the  previous  days.  He  was  so  eloquent, 


Every  Fate  Has  Its  Hour.  57 

so  eager,  so  full  of  hopes  and  plans  that  Ambrosia 
became  not  only  receptive  but  responsive.  And  the 
pleasant  motion  and  the  fresh  breeze  and  the  sun 
shine  and  the  flowers  and  twittering  birds,  all  seemed 
a  part  of  the  delightful  confidence.  Yea,  and  it  was 
only  intensified  by  the  familiar  noise  of  the  horses 
and  carriages  on  the  Avenue  and  the  murmur  of 
Broadway  near  by. 

It  was  one  o'clock  ;  they,  had  been  three  hours  re 
vealing  themselves  to  each  other.  But  what  were 
three  hours?  For  as  Robert  Carter  lifted  his  be 
trothed  from  the  buggy  he  said  : 

"  Henceforward,  Amber,  for  all  our  lives,  for  all 
eternity,  we  two  are  one." 

And  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  they  went  into 
the  house  together. 

Mr.  Shepherd  had  come  down-stairs  to  lunch,  and 
was  in  high  spirits. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  long  for  Wall  Street,  doctor !" 
he  cried. 

And  then  the  doctor  told  him  what  had  happened 
between  himself  and  Ambrosia ;  and  the  matter  was 
talked  over  with  perfect  amiability  and  understand 
ing.  Ambrosia  was  kissed  and  congratulated,  but 
already  she  felt  as  if  some  of  the  sweetness  and  ex- 
clusiveness  of  love's  avowal  had  vanished.  She 
could  not  eat,  and  her  lover  could  not  eat,  and  they 
went  into  the  parlor  where  she  had  first  sat  with 
him,  and  he  reminded  her  of  the  rose  at  her  throat 
that  day  and  of  the  petals  that  he  gathered  from  it 
and  put  into  her  hand.  And  she  made  him  blush 
scarlet  with  pleasure  when  she  whispered  : 

"  I  have  the  rose-leaves  yet.  They  were  your 
first  offering.  I  saved  every  leaf." 


58  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

They  were  so  happy  telling  each  other  they  were 
so  happy  that  they  heeded  not  how  the  time  went 
by.  And  yet  their  happiness  had  brought  its  in 
evitable  shadow  with  it.  In  the  dining-room  some 
thing  hopeful  had  passed  away.  Mrs.  Shepherd's 
attentions  and  pleasantries  fell  upon  heedless  ears. 
The  sick  man  pushed  aside  his  plate.  His  appetite 
was  gone  in  a  moment.  He  was  somber  and  silent. 
He  felt  unable  to  echo  his  wife's  exclamations  of 
gratification  or  to  discuss  the  probabilities  of  such 
an  excellent  alliance.  For  a  little  while  he  listened, 
and  then  he  said,  with  a  pathetic  look  of  entreaty 
for  tolerance  : 

"  I  will  talk  to-morrow,  Clara.  I  am  glad  for  Am 
ber's  sake.  God  bless  the  child  !  But  I  feel — I  feel 
— like  old  Jacob — bereft:  I  have  lost  my  health  and 
my  business  and  now  my  daughter.  It  is  the  end 
of  the  day  with  me." 

"  Ambrose,  you  have  still  your  wife.  If  you  lose 
everything  —  everything  —  I  shall  only  love  you 
more." 

And  she  went  to  his  side  and  drew  his  poor  aching 
weary  head  to  her  breast,  and  kissed  his  lips  and 
kissed  his  tears  away,  and  showed  him  a  lavish 
affection  which  was  not  usual  to  her  self-contained 
nature — an  affection  whose  sweetest  tenderness  hap 
piness  never  knows. 

In  the  next  room  it  was  the  beginning  of  the  day. 
The  very  dawn  of  love's  fair  hour,  for  Robert  and 
Ambrosia.  Who  could  grudge  them  a  moment  of 
its  delicious  dreaming?  If  Bessie  had  asked  Am 
brosia  now  what  love  was  like,  she  would  have  an 
swered  : 

"  It  is    like   an    anchor.      I  have   been   drifting 


Every  Fate  Has  Its  Hour.  59 

hither  and  thither.  I  am  at  home  and  at  rest,  now. 
I  am  full  of  content  from  head  to  feet.  And  I  love 
the  man  dearly,  upon  whose  heart  I  may  hencefor 
ward  lean." 

Yet  Robert  was  the  more  passionate  lover  of  the 
two ;  which  was  well  and  right.  He  had  been  wont 
to  smile  at  the  love-scenes  in  novels  and  plays  and 
operas.  He  had  thought  them  over-drawn.  Now 
they  seemed  entirely  too  cold  and  tame.  He  had 
thought  them  even  ridiculous.  It  had  appeared  to 
him  incredible  that  men  should  ever  make  such  fools 
of  themselves.  And  he  could  now  recall  without  a 
blush  his  adoration  of  Ambrosia's  beauty,  his  ex 
travagant  delight  at  her  acceptance  of  his  love.  In 
deed,  he  was  sure  the  extravagance,  under  the 
circumstances,  was  the  only  proper  way  of  ex 
pressing  feelings  which  had  no  earthly  value  or 
parallel. 

And  it  made  him  smile  happily  to  find  himself,  on 
his  return  home,  hunting  through  a  volume  of  poetry 
for  four  verses  Will  had  marked  specially  for  him, 
saying  as  he  did  so  : 

"You  will  want  them  some  day  soon,  Robert. 
Then  you  can  write  me  a  '  thank  you,  Will.'  I  do 
not  expect  ijt  now." 

And  so  Robert  smiled  as  he  turned  the  leaves, 
having  a  shrewd  idea  they  were  about  the  middle  of 
the  volume,  and  finding  them  there  without  much 
trouble,  which  circumstance,  he  told  himself,  was  a 
happy  sign  : 

"  Heinrich  Heine's''  he  said.  "  Well,  Heine,  speak 
for  me." 

And  he  was  so  pleased  with  what  Heine  said,  that 
the  next  day  he  went  to  his  bookseller  and  ordered 


60  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

a  set  of  Heine.  And  when  it  came  home,  the  first 
verses  he  turned  to  were  the  ones  Will  had  marked 
for  him : 

"  How  bravely  is  the  little  body  fashioned, 

Her  deep-blue  eye,  how  fairy-like  it  shines, 
She  stands  upon  her  small  foot,  firmly  stationed, 
A  form,  wherein  with  strength,  all  grace  combines. 

"  Her  cordial  voice,  it  sounds  so  frank  and  gracious ; 

Revealing  all  her  soul  without  eclipse ; 
And  all  she  says  is  thoughtful  and  sagacious, 
And  like  a  pair  of  rosebuds  are  her  lips. 

"  It  is  not  love  upon  my  senses  stealing, 

My  reason  undiseased  is  at  command ; 
Yet  wondrously  her  being  thrills  my  being, 
As  tremblingly,  I  stoop  to  kiss  her  hand. 

"  I  think  that  at  the  last  I  culled  a  flower 

And  gave  it  to  her ;  speaking  clear  and  free, 
Yea,  be  my  wife,  '  Ambrosia,'  from  this  hour, 
That  I,  like  thee,  may  pure  and  happy  be." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LOVE'S   SWEET  AND   BITTER. 

"  As  for  the  rest,  I  only  plead  with  grief — 
*  I  did  not  think  the  time  could  be  so  brief.' " 

O,  Love,  they  wrong  thee  much, 

Who  say  thy  sweet  is  bitter ; 
When  thy  rich  fruit  is  such 

As  nothing  can  be  sweeter. 

— From  Elizabethan  Lyric. 

It  was  a  hot  day  in  August,  so  hot,  that  to  read  or 
write  was  to  achieve  a  moral  conquest  over  bodily 
and  mental  inertia  ;  and  Ambrosia  was  considering 
the  likelihood  of  the  weather  climaxing  in  a  thun 
der-storm. 

"  That  would  put  a  stop  to  Mrs.  Smith's  tennis- 
party,"  she  said  with  a  soft  triumph.  "And  cer 
tainly,  Mrs.  Smith's  tennis-parties  ought  to  be 
stopped." 

"  What  are  you  saying,  Amber?" 

Amber  repeated  the  assertion,  and  Mrs.  Shepherd 
added  : 

"  I  cannot  understand  why  lawn  tennis  has  become 
so  popular !  Not  one  woman  in  a  thousand  runs  de- 

[61] 


62  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

cently,  and  their  clothing  gets  out  of  order,  soiled 
and  uncomfortable.  How  has  it  become  fashionable  ?' ' 

"  It  is  past  my  comprehension  ;  especially  as  it  is 
neither  expensive  nor  unhealthy  nor  wicked.  I  sup 
pose  it  may  be  because  it  furnishes  a  cheap  and  easy 
way  to  entertain  bores  and  nobodies.  However, 
simple  as  it  is,  Mrs.  Smith  does  not  understand  how 
to  serve  refreshment  at  tennis." 

"  I  thought  she  had  excellent  teas." 

"  But  fancy  sitting  down  to  a  table  twenty  feet 
long  for  a  cup  of  tea !  It  conveyed  an  absolutely 
solemn  feeling  to  my  mind." 

"  The  twenty  feet  of  table  were  required,  I  think." 

"  But  how  much  more  chatty  and  delightful  little 
tables  scattered  about  would  have  been.  On  these 
little  tables  she  could  have  placed  the  fruit  and  cake 
and  ices,  and  the  tea  and  coffee  should  have  been 
carried  round  ;  and  there  ought  to  have  been  plenty 
of  garden-chairs,  placed  in  pairs,  each  pair  out  of 
ear-shot  of  the  other.  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  one 
of  four  or  six  on  the  same  seat.  However,  all  things 
considered,  lawn  tennis  is  not  more  objectionable 
than  many  of  the  other -entertainments  which  help 
to  make  life  miserable." 

Mrs.  Shepherd  did  not  answer,  and  Ambrosia 
turned  and  looked  inquisitively  at  her. 

"  You  are  ill  or  very  unhappy,  Clara.  I  have  sus 
pected  one  or  the  other  for  several  days.  I  think 
you  ought  to  tell  me  if  anything  is  vexing  or  pain 
ing  you." 

Then  Clara  rose,  and,  lifting  her  parasol,  motioned 
to  Amber  to  follow  her.  She  led  the  way  to  a  seat 
under  some  large  trees,  and  said  softly : 

"  I  am  so  afraid  of  the  servants  finding  out  things. 


Loves  Sweet  and  Bitter.  63 


Here  we  can  talk  and  they  cannot  come  unsuspected 
within  hearing.  Amber,  I  am  in  great  trouble.  I 
have  been  miserable  for  three  weeks." 

"Is  it  my  father ?  I  have  noticed  that  he  has 
been  most  unreasonable — quite  unlike  himself." 

"  That  is  true,  Amber.  Robert's  fears  are  being 
sadly  realized.  Your  father  will  never  more  go  to 
Wall  Street.  I  have  persuaded  him  to  buy  the 
Mayberry  farm.  He  was  born  on  it.  It  will  soon 
be  all  we  shall  have." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Clara  ?     Father's  business — 

"  He  left  it  in  Tom's  charge.  Tom  is  not  your 
father.  Tom  seems  to  have  no  idea  of  right  and 
wrong.  I  cannot  get  a  cent  of  money  from  him. 
At  first  he  was  full  of  excuses,  now  he  does  not  even 
answer  my  letters." 

"  How  can  Tom  be  so  wicked  ?  Father  ought  not 
to  have  trusted  Tom  with  money.  He  must  have 
known  that  any  stranger  would  have  been  better." 

"  Your  father  broke  down  in  a  moment,  Amber. 
He  had  no  time  for  planning  or  preparation.  Nat 
urally,  he  turned  to  Tom.  He  had  a  right  to  expect 
more  from  him  than  from  a  stranger." 

"  But  Tom  conjugates  the  whole  world  by  the  let 
ter  '  I,'  and  you  knew  this,  Clara !" 

"  But  when  the  thing  is  done,  it  is  too  late  to  say 
what  ought  to  have  been  done.  Your  father's  busi 
ness  career  is  over." 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?" 

"  I  can  manage  a  farm.  I  was  brought  up  on  one. 
You  are  happily  provided  for.  This  knowledge 
makes  the  rest  more  endurable." 

"  You  mean  that  I  will  marry  Robert  soon  ?" 

"  Yes.     He  loves  you  and  you  love  him." 


64  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Marrying  is  an  important  and  final  thing.  It 
ought  not  to  be  done  in  a  hurry." 

"  Amber,  do  not  fritter  away  so  much  love  and 
happiness.  How  could  you  live  on  Mayberry  farm 
and  do  hard  work  and  be  compelled  to  count  every 
cent  and  to  be  anxious  about  simple  food  and 
clothing?" 

"  Hush  !  Here  comes  Will !  Good  morning,  sir. 
Where  have  you  been  so  early  ?  Are  you  not  afraid 
of  the  heat  ?" 

"  Sunshine  is  life  to  me.  And  I  have  been  to  the 
Dutch  gardener  for  some  flowers." 

"  For  which  you  paid  twice  as  much  as  they  were 
worth." 

"  Perhaps  I  did,  for — 

'  In  matters  of  commerce,  the  fault  of  the  Dutch 
Is  giving  too  little  and  asking  too  much.' 

Not  their  fault  alone.  Earth  gets  a  price  for  all  it 
gives  us.  We  bargain  even  for  the  graves  we  must 
lie  in. 

'  'T  is  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away  ; 
'T  is  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking.' " 

Mrs.  Shepherd  smiled  sympathetically  and  then 
rose  and  returned  to  the  house. 

Ambrosia  sat  still.  Her  eyes  were  cast  down  ; 
there  was  the  shadow  of  trouble  in  them.  She  al 
most  feared  Will's  clear  gaze  ;  he  was  harder  to 
deceive  than  his  brother  Robert. 

"  I  have  just  heard  that  my  father  is  not  likely  to 
recover  his  former  self.  I  am  very  unhappy,  Will. 
And  so  many  men  like  father — men  in  the  prime  of 
life — come  home  some  day  from  Wall  Street  and 
never  go  back  again.  There  was  Captain  James  and 


Loves  Sweet  and  Bitter.  65 

Mr.  Brookes  and  a  dozen  more,  that  in  my  short  life 
I  remember." 

"  Yes,  I  think  the  Share  List  represents  as  many 
tears,  as  much  orphanage,  widowhood,  starvation 
and  misery,  as  much  savage  because  deliberate  cru 
elty  as  all  the  riot  and  rapine  of  the  Dark  Ages. 
Robert  told  me  of  your  father's  condition.  I  am  very 
sorry.  It  is  pitiful  when  sorrow  is  all." 

Will  spoke  with  a  stern  gravity,  and  there  was  a 
few  moments'  silence.  Then  Amber  asked  : 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  Smiths  this  afternoon  ?" 

"  No.  I  am  going  to  Burton's  orchard.  There  is 
a  certain  Mrs.  Oriole  living  there,  and  her  daughters 
svre  to  make  their  d/but  this  afternoon.  I  promised 
her  to  come  and  see  their  first  attempt  at  flying. 
Annie  and  Jane  Smith  and  Sarah  and  Floy  Round 
flopping  about  after  a  ball  are  not  graceful  objects  ; 
but  Mrs.  and  the  Miss  Orioles,  darting  through  the 
cherry  trees,  are  among  the  '  things  of  beauty  that 
are  joys  forever.' " 

"  Will,  do  be  honest.  You  know  it  is  because  you 
cannot  go  to  Mrs.  Smith's  without  the  proper  toilet 
that  you  prefer  the  society  of  the  Orioles.  You  like 
to  go  where  you  can  dress  in  your  own  way  ?" 

"  There  is  truth  in  that.  I  can  dress  myself 
always,  Amber,  without  waiting  for  orders  from 
Paris." 

"  Where  is  Robert  this  morning?" 

"  He  went  hurriedly  to  New  York  last  night. 
You  know  he  cannot  stay  away  long  from  you.  He 
had  a  consultation — not  with  doctors — but  with 
Italian  fresco  painters.  He  is  having  the  house 
made  beautiful  for  your  reception,  Amber." 

"  He  did  not  tell  me  so^ 


66  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Then,  when  he  explains  his  late  frequent  ab 
sences,  do  be  as  surprised  and  pleased  as  possible. 
Oh,  Amber  !  How  happy  we  shall  all  be  !  What  a 
fortunate  man  Robert  is !  Also,  how  fortunate  I 
am  !  I  have  longed  so  much  for  a  sister.  You  and 
I  will  be  great  friends.  We  always  have  been  great 
friends.  You  seemed  to  take  to  me,  and  to  trust  in 
me,  from  the  first?" 

She  looked  straight  at  him  with  sweet  and  evident 
confidence.  Then  she  laid  her  hands  in  his,  and 
said  : 

"  Always  friends,  Will.  Faithful  brother  and  sis 
ter.  And  if  anything  ever  goes  wrong — any  cross 
word — any  little  trouble  between  Robert  and  my 
self,  you  will  stand  by  me  and  help  to  make  every 
one  happy  again  ?" 

"  I  will  stand  by  you,  always." 

"  Right  or  wrong?" 

"  There  is  no  wrong  in  the  question.  You  could 
not  do  anything  wrong." 

His  clear  eyes  were  misty  with  feeling,  and  Am 
brosia  instantly  detected  the  presence  of  something 
that  might  become  sentiment.  She  laughed  lightly 
and  stood  up,  saying  : 

"  It  is  very  warm,  indeed.    Let  us  go  to  the  house." 

"  All  right.  Amber,  supposing  I  were  you,  I  think 
I  should  be  less  exacting  with  Robert.  He  does  so 
earnestly  try  to  please  you." 

"  Supposing  you  were  I,  Will,  would  you  not  do 
precisely  as  I  do  ?" 

"  You  have  asked  me  a  very  puzzling  question, 
Amber.  If  I  could  answer  it,  how  wise  I  would  be  ! 
Have  you  ever  studied  metaphysics  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.   The  name  is  enough.   There  was 


Love's  Sweet  and  Bitter.  67 

a  class  at  Miss  Dean's  school  that  took  up  '  the  intel 
lectual  powers/  and  I  was  in  it.  It  was  all  Greek  to 
me.  Last  winter,  Mrs.  Shepherd  persuaded  me  to 
go  to  a  course  of  lectures.  They  had  a  very  learned 
name — I  have  forgotten  what ;  and  I  went.  Well, 
Will,  I  heard  so  much  about  the  unknown  and  the 
unknowable,  the  verities  and  the  eternities,  that  I 
began  to  say  :  '  If  I  be  Amber  Shepherd,  as  I  suppose 
I  be,'  and  the  Mother-Goose  rhyme  seemed  just  as 
profound."  Then  suddenly  all  the  mirthful  scorn 
went  out  of  her  face,  and  she  said  with  a  marked 
solemnity :  "  After  six  weeks  of  it,  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  did  one  morning.  I  went  softly  into  an  open 
church  and  threw  myself  at  the  feet  of  the  Holy 
Crucified  One." 

"  My  dear  Amber  !  How  glad  I  am  to  hear  you 
say  this !" 

"  Humanity,  progress  and  the  unknown  may  be 
grand  ideals  ;  but  I  want  a  heart — a  divine  heart — to 
pity  my  weakness  and  to  love  me  through  all  my 
folly.  When  do  you  expect  Robert  ?" 

"  By  the  two  o'clock  train.  Yet  he  may  be  later. 
Do  you  know,  Amber,  he  was  quite  jealous  of  that 
tall,  good-looking  youth  who  was  so  assiduous  in 
waiting  on  you  last  Friday  night?" 

Ambrosia  laughed  scornfully. 

"  Jealous  of  Willy  Strong  !  Willy  is  only  a  ball 
player.  His  vision  never  takes  in  anything  larger 
than  a  ball.  Willy  was  born  into  this  world  to 
4  pitch,'  and  he  sees  no  other  beauty  or  duty.  I 
hope  Robert  will  find  himself  a  more  respectable 
rival.  I  hope  he  will  refrain  himself  from  being 
jealous  at  all.  I  take  it  as  an  offense.  I  like  to  be 
trusted.  I  shall  expect  a  husband  to  trust  me 


68  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

even  against  his  seven  senses.     Has  a  man  seven 
senses?" 

"  Has  a  woman  ?" 

"  She  has  perhaps  some  that  men  have  lost,  or  at 
least  she  has  intimations  of  them.  Will  you  come 
into  lunch  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  shall  go  back  to  the  hotel  and 
wait  for  Robert." 

He  smiled  a  farewell,  and  went  out  into  the  lonely 
country  road.  He  was  the  only  figure  in  sight,  and 
Ambrosia  felt  there  was  a  kind  of  pathos  in  the 
long,  empty  fields  ;  they  had  a  weary  look,  as  if  their 
own  sameness  oppressed  them.  It  was  a  fleeting 
and  not  very  accurate  impression  ;  for  though  there 
is  doubtless  no  speech  or  language  where  Nature's 
voice  is  not  heard,  yet  the  understanding  thereof  is 
a  far  less  general  thing.  Ambrosia  had  few  sympa 
thies  with  Nature  ;  she  did  not  even  care  to  under 
stand  her.  If  Will  had  not  been  a  rich  man,  she 
would  have  regarded  his  communion  with  her  as  an 
indefensible  waste  of  time. 

She  went  into  the  house,  lifting  at  the  threshold 
a  heavy  weight  of  anxiety.  Mr.  Shepherd  was  down 
stairs  talking  hopefully  of  the  new  life  which  was 
his  only  prospect.  He  was  going  to  ride  over  to  the 
Mayberry  farm,  and  he  was  full  of  plans  for  the 
improvement  of  the  place. 

"  If  I  am  to  turn  farmer,  Clara,"  he  said,  with  a 
brave  little  laugh,  "  I  am  going  to  farm  on  the  very 
latest  principles.  I  shall  advertise  for  a  progressive 
man  to  help  me  ;  and  for  your  sake  I  will  have  some 
additions  built  as  soon  as  possible." 

Full  of  such  intentions,  he  went  off  in  buoyant 
spirits,  and  Clara  watched  him  until  he  was  out  of 


Loves  Sweet  and  Bitter.  69 

sight.  Then  the  two  women  looked  at  each  other 
and  sank — each  of  them — to  the  level  of  their  sad 
hearts.  Clara  sat  perfectly  still  for  a  few  moments. 
Ambrosia  had  her  hands  restlessly  in  her  hair,  a 
trick  common  enough  with  those  who  are  puzzled 
and  anxious.  She  spoke  first. 

"If  we  could  only  get  rid  of  the  servants ;  only 
have  our  sorrows  to  ourselves ;  only  weep  without 
prying  eyes  watching  our  tears !  Oh,  Clara,  if  we 
could  only  be  alone  !" 

"  If  the  horse  could  only  rid  itself  of  its  bridle  !  If 
the  bird  could  only  get  out  of  its  cage  !  Come  into 
my  room.  There  is  a  possibility  of  seclusion  there. 
What  was  Will  saying  to  you?  Anything  about 
Robert?" 

"  He  asked  me  to  be  kinder  to  Robert.  He  says 
Robert  loves  me  so  much.  I  know  that." 

"  Has  he  spoken  to  you  of  the  marriage-day  ?" 

"  I  have  always  put  off  the  question.  It  is  my 
fault  the  day  is  not  settled.  I  never  dreamed  of  you 
being  in  such  trouble.  And  I  wished  to  keep  myself 
free  as  long  as  possible.  I  am  only  twenty.  At 
twenty,  there  are  all  kinds  of  possibilities.  I  have 
not  felt  quite  sure  about  some  things.  Robert  is  a 
little  of  the  tyrant.  He  has  had  his  own  way  so  long. 
He  has  got  used  to  telling  men  and  women  to  do  this 
and  that.  It  was  a  kind  of  pleasure  to  feel  that  at 
least  he  could  not  order  the  wedding-day.  Robert 
is  nearly  forty,  and  sure  of  all  his  desires.  I,  as  I 
said,  am  only  twenty  ;  and  I  have  vague  fears  that  I 
am  hurrying  forward  my  life.  My  dear  Clara,  what 
are  we  to  do  ?  Have  you  any  plan  for  the  future  ?" 

"  First  of  all,  I  must  have  money.  Your  father 
thinks  Tom  sends  all  that  is  necessary.  It  would  be 


70  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

cruel  to  tell  him  that  Tom  does  not  send  a  dollar ; 
because  he  would  insist  on  going  to  New  York,  and 
that  might  be  the  end  of  all,  as  far  as  he  is  con 
cerned.  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  see  Tom  ?" 

"  It  would  be  quite  useless.  Tom  never  liked  me. 
Indeed  it  suited  him  precisely  to  keep  his  step 
mother  for  a  standing  grievance.  It  permitted  him 
to  live  away  from  his  home." 

"  Shall  I  go  and  see  Tom  ?" 

"  You  might  try  and  do  something  with  him.  But 
money  is  an  immediate,  pressing  necessity.  Some 
how,  in  some  way,  by  the  kind  of  instinct  that  re 
veals  carrion  to  vultures,  Bridget  and  Molly  have 
scented  trouble — money  trouble — in  the  house.  Sick 
ness  they  like ;  it  gives  them  opportunities  of  all 
kinds.  Quarreling  they  enjoy ;  it  provides  them 
something  to  wonder  over.  But  money  embarrass 
ments  might  curtail  their  luxuries  or  make  delay  in 
their  wages,  and  they  smell  it  out  and  resent  it  as  if1 
it  were  a  private  wrong." 

"  I  thought  Molly  insolent  this  morning." 

"  I  could  not  pay  the  butcher's  bill  this  week,  and 
they  have  whispered  about  us  ever  since.  Bridget's 
month  is  out  on  Saturday.  I  must  have  the  money 
to  pay  her.  Such  mean  little  troubles,  Amber ! 
One  almost  feels  degraded  by  them." 

"  My  dear !  My  dear  !  I  have  seventy  dollars. 
You  can  have  every  dollar.  Why  did  you  not  tell 
me  before  ?" 

The  two  women  kissed  each  other,  crept  close  to 
each  other,  and  Clara  said  : 

"  You  have  done  me  so  much  good,  Amber,  I  will 
tell  you  now  the  best  we  can  do  :  We  have  this  house 


Loves  Sweet  and  Bitter.  71 

until  the  end  of  September,  and  we  must  keep  it  up 
on  the  same  footing  as  hitherto.  You  must  marry 
before  we  leave  it,  for  we  must  close  the  city  house. 
I  shall  sell  such  of  the  furniture  as  is  unsuitable  for 
our  future  life,  and  bring  the  remainder  to  the  farm 
house.  As  soon  as  you  are  married  your  father  and 
I  will  remove  there." 

"  But  these  changes  suppose  money  to  make  them." 

"  I  have  my  diamonds." 

"Oh,  Clara!    Clara!   Clara!" 

"  It  is  hard  for  you  just  now,  when  you  naturally 
look  for  presents  and  more  or  less  wedding  extrava 
gances.  I  never  cared  for  diamonds  ;  you  know  that." 

"  I  hope  they  are  in  some  place  where  Tom  cannot 
get  at  them." 

"  They  are  safe.  I  am  so  sorry  to  make  you  a 
partner  in  all  this  trouble,  Amber.  I  hoped  Robert 
and  you  would  have  been  married  before  it  was 
necessary  to  make  any  change.  You  cannot  tell  how 
anxiously  I  have  watched  every  day  for  something 
definite  on  this  subject.  What  is  it,  Molly  ?" 

"  'Tis  the  half  hour  since  the  lunch-bell,  ma'am, 
and  the  victuals  waiting  themselves  cold." 

Then  Clara  and  Amber  arose,  making,  as  they  did 
so,  some  trifling  remark  about  the  weather  and  the 
tennis  party  ;  and  over  their  salad  and  chops  both 
bravely  discussed  the  small  events  of  the  petty  social 
life  around  them.  Amber  frequently  laughed,  and 
Clara's  calm  face  reflected  her  affected  gayety.  But 
the  girl  with  the  round  black  eyes,  the  long  upper 
lip  and  the  slit-like  mouth  waited  on  them  with  a 
sideway  poise  of  her  head,  which  spoke  as  plainly  as 
she  afterward  spoke  in  words  to  Bridget  in  the 
kitchen : 


72  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Ah,  thin  !  They  are  in  trouble,  the  both  of 
them,  and  it 's  not  Molly  Carey  they  're  desaving. 
Thank  God  !" 

In  the  afternoon  the  threatened  thunderstorm 
broke  with  great  fury.  Ambrosia  was  glad  of  it. 
Her  own  affairs  were  too  pressing  to  be  put  out  of 
mind,  and  she -was  well  aware  is  was  a  social  crime 
to  carry  anything  heavier  than  a  racket  to  a  tennis- 
game.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  con 
scious  of  that  bosom-weight  which  mortals  call 
"  care."  Clara's  revelations  had  given  her  a  mental 
shock.  To  become  poor  !  That  was  a  condition  she 
had  never  contemplated. 

She  shut  herself  in  her  room  and  let  the  storm 
beat  against  her  consciousness.  The  black,  hurry 
ing  clouds,  the  moaning  winds,  the  pouring  rain,  the 
unnatural  gloom,  the  flash  and  the  peal  were  a  part 
of  the  strange  confusion  in  her  own  life. 

But  a  few  weeks  ago  all  had  seemed  as  stable  as 
existence,  and  she  had  a  great  longing  for  the  days 
that  were  to  come  no  more — days  when  her  father 
had  "  gone  to  the  office  every  morning,"  and  Clara 
had  always  been  ready  to  hear  her  plans  and  help  her 
in  her  shopping  and  talk  to  her  about  her  pleasures 
and  her  visiting.  How  could  these  things  have 
passed  so  completely  away  in  a  few  weeks  ?  A  little 
farm  for  her  father  and  Clara !  And  what  for  her 
self  ?  There  was  Robert  Carter.  But  when  Robert 
knew  all,  might  he  not  suspect  that  she  had  been  in 
fluenced  in  her  acceptance  of  his  hand  by  the  knowl 
edge  of  such  approaching  changes?  That,  at  least, 
was  not  true.  Poverty,  until  that  morning,  had 
seemed  a  trouble  very  far  off. 

There  was  an  awfully  majestic  panorama  passing 


Loves  Sweet  and  Bitter.  73, 

her  window,  but  she  was  not  in  the  least  interested' 
by  it,  except  as  it  suited  her  present  mood  of  seclu 
sion  and  as  it  affected  the  return  of  Robert  from  New 
York.  She  was  now  very  anxious  to  fix  their  wed 
ding-day.  If  poverty  and  sorrow  were  coming1,  her 
strongest  instinct  was  to  fly  away  from  them.  And 
she  found  plenty  of  excuses  for  the  desire.  Clara 
wished  it.  She  could  be  of  no  use.  She  would  .be 
an  extra  expense.  She  even  might,  as  Robert's  wife, 
be  of  some  practical  service. 

"  I  hope  Robert  will  get  here  this  evening,"  she 
sighed.  "  I  shall  be  unhappy  now  until  the  affair  is 
settled." 

But  Nature,  eternally  careless  of  man,  neither  de^- 
lays  nor  hurries  her  affairs  for  human  desires  or 
anxieties.  The  storm  continued  until  midnight. 
Even  Will  did  not  venture  through  the  teeming 
rain.  And  the  house  felt  full  of  shadowy  calamity. 
Clara  was  with  her  husband,  who  had  driven  home 
in  the  heat  and  gloom  preceding  the  downpour  and 
been  rendered  extremely  nervous  and  exhausted  by 
his  exertions.  Ambrosia  could  hear  in  the  unnatural 
stillness  his  mournful  regretting  and  Clara's  calm, 
low  voice  soothing  him.  There  was  also  a  sound  of 
unhappy  work  in  the  kitchen.  The  girls  were  com 
plaining  and  heaving  great  sighs,  and  making  each 
other  believe  that  the  gloom  and  the  miserable  rain 
were  entirely  country  institutions,  and  that  in  New 
York  the  streets  were  warm  and  dry,  and  the  hand- 
organs  playing,  and  the  policemen  leaning  confi 
dentially  against  the  area  railings. 

No  other  sounds  but  the  wind  and  the  rain  and 
the  rattling  thunder.  If  she  could  have  heard  at 
this  hour  Robert's  footsteps  on  the  graveled  garden-. 


74  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

walk  or  Will's  voice  mocking  the  blackbird's  whistle, 
how  glad  she  would  have  been  !  But  there  was  no 
call  for  her  until  the  dinner  was  served.  Clara  eat 
the  silent,  melancholy  meal  with  her.  Neither  of 
them  had  the  heart  to  pretend  cheerfulness  or  to 
talk  of  frivolities.  Clara  said :  "  Your  father  is  ill 
and  weary."  And  Ambrosia  looked  at  her  step 
mother  with  an  understanding  sympathy.  But 
Molly,  as  she  waited  on  them,  was  full  of  an  ignorant 
resentment.  Why  should  she  be  serving  in  a  sor 
rowful  house  and  in  a  place  where  it  rained  and  was 
lonely  ?  She  tried  to  make  her  resentment  felt,  but 
failed.  Clara  and  Ambrosia  had  both  passed  into 
atmospheres  of  realities,  and  the  artificial  accidents 
of  their  position  were  indifferent  to  them. 

In  the  morning  the  storm  was  over  and  the  sun 
shining.  Life  seemed  more  possible  to  every  one. 
Ambrosia  dressed  with  great  care,  and  waited  for 
her  lover.  He  did  not  come  until  the  evening,  but 
she  had  promised  herself  to  be  "  perfectly  lovely  " 
to  him,  and  she  kept  her  promise.  Robert,  who  had 
feared  either  shrugs  or  pouts,  was  delighted  to  be 
met  with  a  smile  like  sunshine. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  be  annoyed  at  my  de 
lay,"  he  said.  "  You  are  an  angel,  Amber,  and  you 
look  as  lovely  as  one." 

«  \ — missed — you — Robert !" 

The  four  words  were  simple  enough,  but  she 
-sent  them  to  his  heart  with  a  glance  that  made  him 
tremble  with  pleasure.  Then  she  put  her  hand  in 
Robert's,  and  led  him  to  the  seat  under  the  maple- 
trees.  When  they  returned  to  the  house  there  was 
a  new  tie  between  them.  In  one  week  Ambrosia 
was  to  be  Robert's  wife. 


Loves  Sweet  and  Bitter.  75 

"  I  missed  you  so  terribly  yesterday,  Robert," 
Ambrosia  had  said.  "  I  have  been  niggardly  to  you 
and  to  my  own  heart  long  enough.  I  am  going  in 
the  future  to  do  everything  you  ask  me  to  do." 

Her  little  tempers  and  reluctances,  her  contradic 
tions  and  fits  of  indifference,  what  were  they  after 
this  confession  ?  Only  the  necessary  alternations  to 
make  sweet  and  perfect  her  delicious  surrenders, 
her  surprising  obediences,  her  delightful  reliances 
upon  his  wisdom  and  love,  "  I  will  do  anything  you 
ask  me  now,  Robert."  And  he  had  taken  her  at  her 
full  word  and  asked  for  their  immediate  marriage. 

"  Because  I  want  to  go  to  London  and  Paris,"  he 
said  in  extenuation  of  his  hurry.  "  I  have  medical 
business  there,  and  now  I  could  not  bear  to  leave 
you,  Amber.  Put  our  separation  out  of  the  question. 
We  can  be  married  next  Wednesday  morning,  and 
sail  in  the  afternoon.  Will  you  do  this  for  me, 
Amber?" 

She  put  her  hand  in  his,  but  asked  : 

"  How  can  I  be  ready  in  seven  days.  I  must  have 
dresses  and  things." 

"  Every  kind  of  dress  and  '  thing  '  can  be  bought 
in  Paris." 

"  My  wedding-dress?" 

"  Why  not  be  married  in  your  travelling-dress  ? 
You  have  lots  of  pretty  dresses." 

"  I  cannot  possibly  wear  a  dress  I  have  worn 
before." 

"  There  are  plenty  of  new  dresses  in  New  York. 
I  am  sure  you  know  where  to  buy  one." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do." 

"  Well  then,  my  darling?" 

"  Have  you  thought  about  father  ?" 


76  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  I  spoke  to  him  long  ago.  He  knows  that  I  love 
you  and  that  my  great  desire  is  to  make  you  my 
wife." 

"  But  about  his  health  ?  Clara  told  me  yesterday 
that  he  would  never  make  any  more  money." 

"I  know." 

"  That  he  will  be  poor — very  poor." 

"  We  will  not  permit  that." 

"  I  suppose  I  am  very  poor  also?" 

"  Do  you  think  I  care  whether  you  are  poor  or 
rich,  Amber?  Do  you  not  love  me,  for  myself, 
alone  ?" 

"  As  you  love  me,  dear  one  !" 

"  Yes,  truly  so.  Now,  I  am  glad  you  spoke  to  me 
so  plainly.  Now,  I  shall  always  put  my  trust  in 
you.  Tell  me  the  inmost  thought  in  your  heart, 
Amber.  If  it  is  against  myself,  and  you  tell  it  to 
ine,  I  will  be  just  and  kind.  And  I  will  keep  back 
no  thought  from  you,  nothing  that  happens  me. 
We  must  be  clear  as  the  day  with  each  other.  It  is 
the  only  way  to  be  happy." 

It  was  near  midnight  when  Robert  bid  Amber 
"  Good-night ;"  but  everything  had  been  arranged. 

"  And  I  am  not  sleepy,  Clara,"  she  said.  "  Come 
to  my  room,  and  talk  to  me." 

So  they  went  upstairs  together  and  sat  down  by 
the  open  window.  In  the  bright  moonlight,  they 
could  see  Robert  slowly  strolling  down  the  country- 
lane  to  the  hotel.  The  eyes  of  both  women  fell 
upon  him. 

"  How  good  he  is  !  How  kind  !  How  consider 
ate  !"  said  Clara. 

"  Yes.  But  it  is  a  poor  wedding !  Not  at  all  what 
I  expected." 


Loves  Sweet  and  Bitter.  77 

"  We  are  poor  people  now,  Amber." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  telling  me  that  over  and  over 
again  ?  I  say  it  is  a  poor  w-edding.  I  expected 
something  very  different." 

"  What  did  you  expect  ?" 

"  I  intended  to  have  St.  Azarius  trimmed  with 
palms  and  flowers.  I  expected  fine  music  and  a 
couple  of  clergymen — more  especially  the  curate 
who  asked  me  about '  love  marriages.'  I  had  chosen 
my  bridemaids — eight  of  them.  To  be  sure,  I  did 
not  like  any  of  them  but  Bessie ;  but  they  were 
splendid  '  set-offs  '  to  each  other  and  to  myself.  I 
had  the  dresses  and  the  gifts,  the  bouquets  and  the 
ushers  and  the  other  details  perfect.  It  is  a  little 
hard  to  give  up  all  for  a  family  wedding  in  a 
country  church ;  no  music,  no  bridemaids,  no  wed 
ding-breakfast,  no  wedding-dress,  really."  :  -. 

"  Robert  did  not  seem  to  care." 

"  Robert  was  delighted.  He  said  he  did  not  see 
what  the  world  had  to  do  with  our  marriage,  any 
way.  He  said  that '  show  '  marriages  were  intensely 
vulgar,  and  that  society  would  make  a  decree  to  that 
effect  very  soon.  He  said  also  that  it  was  vulgar  ta 
receive  presents  and  make  a  spectacle  of  ourselves;, 
and  that  it  would  be  far  better  and  happier  to  enter 
life  together  by  that  modest  portal  that  love  desires 
and  which  does  not  offend  good  fortune." 

"  He  spoke  very  wisely." 

"  Very  wisely,  indeed !  I  asked  him  if  he  hadl 
learned  what  he  said  out  of  a  book.  And  he  an 
swered  he  had  learned  out  of  the  Book  of  Life." 

It  was  natural  enough  that  Ambrosia  should  have 
at  least  one  little  grumble  over  the  collapse  of  her 
girlish  dreams.  Especially  as  she  never  again  al- 


78  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

luded  to  them.  Indeed,  she  was  so  full  of  endearing 
self-disparagements  and  of  little  compunctions  for 
her  happiness,  that  Clara  thought  she  had  never 
"been  so  lovable  and  so  charming. 

And  during  these  last  days — days  so  full  of  hopes, 
dreams  and  desires — Robert  was  a  different  Robert. 
Even  Will  was  astonished  at  the  romance,  the  chiv 
alry  and  the  magnificent  generosity  of  his  brother's 
love.  For  there  is  a  Don  Quixote  in  every  Sancho 
Pfznza  ;  and  Robert  Carter  was,  perhaps,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  at  the  topmost  reach  of  his  best  self. 
The  actual  world  was  under  his  feet ;  he  was  living 
in  an  ideal  one,  full  of  beauty  and  of  self-abnega 
tions.  But  it  is  not  in  this  life — not  in  this  life — we 
are  able  to  live  long  in  the  ideal,  however  good  and 
charming  it  is.  We  are  not  satisfied  with  ideals; 
and,  alas,  for  realizations !  Be  they  ever  so  sweet 
and  good,  they  are  of  the  earth,  earthy. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHEN   "LOVE   IS   LORD   OF  ALL." 

Count  nothing  won  till  Love  be  Lord  of  all. 

****** 

"  Domestic  happiness,  thou  only  bliss 
Of  Paradise  that  has  survived  the  fall." 

— Cowper. 

There  is  in  souls  a  sympathy  with  sounds ; 
And  as  the  mind  is  pitched,  the  ear  is  pleased 
With  melting  airs,  of  martial,  brisk  or  grave  ; 
Some  chord  in  unison  with  what  we  hear 
Is  touched  within  us ;  and  the  heart  replies. 

— Cow  per. 

Perhaps  it  was  well  the  interval  before  the  mar 
riage  was  so  short.  Every  one  was  at  an  unnatural 
strain,  and  every  one  was  somewhat  relieved  when 
the  beautiful  bride,  amid  lifted  hats  and  smiling 
faces,  stepped  lightly  from  her  old  life  to  her  hus 
band's  side.  Robert  was  almost  impatient  of  the 
ceremony ;  impatient  of  the  train.  He  wished  to 
realize  his  power  to  take  Ambrosia  away  from  every 
one  who  hitherto  had  had  any  share  in  her.  Her 
brother  Tom  had  annoyed  him  greatly  with  his 
effusive  affection  for  his  sister ;  with  his  busy  offi- 
ciousness ;  with  his  pronounced  good  looks.  He 

[79] 


8o  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

took  a  dislike  to  Tom  which  he  could  hardly  control. 
He  said  to  himself  that  if  Will  had  been  at  all  like 
him  he  should  have  hated  his  own  brother.  The 
first  determination  he  made  as  a  married  man  was 
that  Tom  Shepherd  should  never  be  a  familiar  in  his 
house. 

Now,  however,  he  proposed  to  give  himself  two 
months  of  absolute  holiday ;  to  devote  that  time, 
at  least,  to  making  his  young  wife  happy  and  •  to 
that  process  of  assimilation  which  was  to  make  them 
really  one.  He  entered  on  this  holiday  with  his 
usual  completeness  of  purpose.  The  medical  busi 
ness,  which  had  been  its  excuse,  was  soon  completed, 
and  then  Ambrosia  was  the  subject  of  all  his 
thoughts  and  plans.  Never  had  a  young  girl  a  more 
joyous  entry  into  married  life.  Whatever  she 
wished  she  had.  Wherever  she  desired  to  go  she 
went.  Her  husband  was  her  lover ;  he  was  en 
raptured  with  her  beauty  and  brightness  ;  he  had 
even  a  great  admiration  of  himself  for  having  won 
the  love  of  a  being  so  superior  to  the  rest  of  the 
world. 

And  Ambrosia  now  really  loved  her  husband.  A 
young  girl  is  not  always  sure  of  her  feelings.  A 
young  wife  is  either  supremely  happy  or  supremely 
miserable.  It  seemed  to  Ambrosia  that  she  had  no 
wish  left  to  gratify.  Even  her  girlish  desire  to  have 
unlimited  silk  and  lace  was  remembered.  However, 
when  this  trial  of  her  self-restraint  came,  Robert 
found  that  Ambrosia  was  quite  able  to  spend  wisely 
and  that  her  pretended  extravagance  was  one  of  those 
willful  hypocrisies  women  are  not  ashamed  of. 

In  fact,  he  was  astonished  both  at  her  prudent  out 
lays  and  her  still  more  prudent  reservations.  During 


When  Love  Is  Lord  Of  All.  81 

their  courtship,  Ambrosia  had  held  in  reserve  the 
practical  side  of  her  character ;  but  when  she  was  a 
wife,  Robert  soon  understood  that  she  knew  very 
well  how  to  obtain  a  dollar's  worth  for  a  dollar.  And 
he  considered  this  ability  an  additional  charm ;  for 
though  he  was  a  generous  man,  he  knew  that  gener 
osity  was  meant  for  great  occasions  and  that  to  be 
generous  every  day  and  always  is  waste  and  folly. 

Their  headquarters  were  in  London  or  Paris,  and 
from  these  cities  they  made  delightful  excursions 
not  curtailed  by  railway-time  and  not  hampered  by 
trunks  and  valises.  Some  of  the  glorious  September 
days  were  spent  among  the  laurels  of  Windermere, 
others  in  the  terraced  streets  of  Edinburgh,  that — 

"  Towered,  templed  metropolitan, 

Waited  upon  by  hills, 
River  and  widespread  ocean,  tinged 
By  changing  light  or  draped  and  fringed 

As  changeful  vapor  wills, 
Or  hanging  like  a  Cyclop's  dream, 
High  in  the  shifting  weather  gleam." 

Here  they  grew  silent  and  confidential  in  their  hap- 
piness,  answering  each  other's  thoughts  by  glances 
and  smiles,  sitting  in  the  lonely  palaces  full  of 
dreams,  or,  hand  in  hand,  climbing  the  storied  way 
to  the  gray  old  castle.  October  they  linked  with 
ancient  towns  and  the  songs  of  the  grape-gatherers 
and  the  romances  of  the  Mediterranean.  Then, 
half  reluctantly  and  half  willingly,  they  turned  their 
hearts  and  faces  westward. 

Both  felt  that  the  May  of  their  love  was  over  and 
that  it  would  be  folly  and  disappointment  to  prolong 
what  had  come  to  a  legitimate  conclusion.  Yet  there 
was  no  sorrow  in  this  recognition.  Was  not  the  rich 


82  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

summer  and  autumn  of  love  before  them  ?  So, 
though  they  turned  backward  with  a  sigh,  as  they 
stepped  on  board  the  home-bound  steamer,  the  next 
moment  they  looked  forward  with  a  smile.  They 
began  to  talk  of  New  York ;  to  recall  its  crash  and 
rattle,  its  multitudinous  cries,  its  snatches  of  talk  and 
laughter,  its  bells  and  clocks  and  chimes ;  all  de 
manding,  insinuating,  clamoring  at  the  ear  and  the 
heart. 

They  wondered  about  their  house,  and  if  Will  had 
got  the  workmen  out  of  it,  or  if  they  would  have  to 
camp  in  a  hotel.  And  like  a  long-forgotten  but  im 
perative  friend,  Robert's  work  appealed  to  him  with 
an  irresistible  authority.  The  thought  of  his  labora 
tory  was  pleasant  to  him ;  his  unfinished  experiments 
assumed  new  points  of  interest.  All  the  positive 
ideas  of  actual  duty  which  had  seemed  so  antago 
nistic  to  all  his  love-dreams  blended  now  with  the 
ozone  in  the  salty  air  and  the  noise  of  the  waves,  and 
the  breath  of  the  great  west  winds  blew  them  into 
his  heart  and  brain.  Every  day,  as  he  drew  nearer 
the  shore,  the  thought  of  his  work  was  better  and 
sweeter. 

Ambrosia  also  had  her  plans  of  life.  Young  wives 
are  all  perfect  housekeepers,  and  she  had  heard 
something  from  Will  of  the  tyrannical  reign  under 
which  he  and  Robert  had  been  permitted  to  keep 
house.  She  intended  to  alter  such  conditions  very 
quickly.  Her  servants  must  be  well-bred,  and  her 
arrangements  without  flaw  or  hindrance.  She  had 
a  great  many  people  to  astonish,  she  had  some  to 
snub,  and  a  few  whom  she  would  delight  to  honor. 
The  waves  rocked  her  to  and  fro.  and  she  lay  in  her 
steamer-chair  with  closed  eyes,  thinking  of  and 


When  Love  Is  Lord  Of  All.  83 

planning    for    the     satisfaction    of    these    diverse 
feelings. 

There  was  a  little  squall  on  the  evening  of  the 
day  before  they  landed,  and  with  her  hand  in 
Robert's  hand,  and  her  head  against  his  shoulder, 
Ambrosia  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  tumult  of  the 
waves  and  the  winds  and  the  noise  of  the  rattling 
sails  and  the  hoarse  cries  of  the  sailors.  After  the 
dreary  monotony  of  days  of  calm,  it  brought  to  her 
that  quickened  sense  of  life  which  is  like  wine. 

But  it  was  a  tame  sensation  compared  with  the 
welcome  New  York  shouted  from  all  her  wharves 
and  streets.  There  happened  to  be  some  military 
display,  and  they  landed  at  noon  while  the  cannon 
were  firing  and  the  sharp  regularity  of  military 
bands  was  striking  fire  and  sympathy  from  the  city's 
heart.  Then  they  understood  how  much  more  power 
fully  men  are  affected  by  the  noise  men  make  than 
by  any  noise  of  nature's.  The  "  double,  double, 
double  beat  of  the  thundering  drum  "  and  the  shout 
ing  of  the  captains  and  the  cheers  of  the  crowd 
stirred  Ambrosia  as  the  voice  of  the  winds  and 
waves  never  did.  She  said  to  Robert : 

"  I  feel  New  York  in  all  my  veins.  I  breathe  it. 
I  live  it.  I  would  not  give  my  three-score-and-ten 
years  in  it  for  a  cycle  of  Europe.  Would  you,  Robert  ?" 

And  he  was  still  lover  enough  to  answer  : 

"  Not  unless  the  cycle  was  surely  to  be  spent  with 
you." 

Will  had  brought  the  carriage  to  meet  them.  He 
had  also  thought  of  an  express  wagon  for  their 
trunks.  He  was  as  happy  and  as  excited  as  a  boy 
of  twelve  years  old  might  have  been.  It  was  such 
a  great  thing  to  be  waiting  for  his  sister.  It  wrs 


84  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

such  a  miraculously  delightful  thing  to  have  that 
sister  lift  her  face  to  his  and  kiss  him.  He  was  so 
amazed  and  so  happy  at  this  favor  that  it  made  him 
suddenly  silent.  He  could  only  clasp  his  brother's 
hand  and  say : 

"  Oh,  Robert !  Robert !  Robert !" 

Robert  had  been  a  little  doubtful  about  the  house, 
but  it  had  been  Will's  business  and  delight  to  hurry 
forward  the  work.  His  supervision  had  been  cease 
less  and  intelligent ;  his  taste  in  designing  and  car 
rying  out  designs  marvelous.  A  perfectly  new 
house  could  not  have  been  in  more  faultless  order, 
and  a  perfectly  new  house  would  have  lacked  that 
subtle  aura,  that  atmosphere  of  kindred  humanity, 
which  clings  only  to  houses  long  dwelt  in  by  men 
and  women  of  the  same  family.  After  lunch,  they 
spent  the  afternoon  in  its  examination,  in  admiring 
and  suggesting  and  calculating. 

"  I  know  Kerry  and  Thomas  and  the  rest  of  the 
kitchen  autocrats  are  laughing  at  us,"  said  Will. 

"  Let  them  laugh,"  answered  Ambrosia.  "  What 
is  that  to  us?"  And  she  laughed  herself — a  little 
ringing,  scornful  laugh,  that  boded  no  good  to  the 
kitchen  autocrats. 

Afterward,  Robert  went  to  his  laboratory,  and 
looked  over  his  unfinished  work  and  made  plans  for 
the  future.  And  Ambrosia  slept,  and  lay  between 
sleeping  and  waking,  and  finally  rose  and  dressed 
herself  very  handsomely  for  her  first  home-dinner. 
And  when  Robert  seated  her  at  the  table,  then  Will 
remembered  how  he  had  urged  his  brother  to  fall  in 
love  with  Ambrosia.  And  now  she  was  fulfilling  all 
his  sweet  prophecy — sitting  at  their  table,  sitting  at 
Robert's  side,  calling  Robert  and  himself  by  their 


When  Love  Is  Lord  Of  All.  85 

Christian  names,  casting  all  the  glamour  of  her  pres 
ence  through  and  through  the  house,  so  long  empty 
of  womanly  influence. 

The  brothers  had  been  accustomed  to  make  no- 
delays  in  eating  their  dinner ;  for  in  some  way  they 
had  been  made  to  feel  that  this  was  only  a  proper 
deference  to  the  high  respectability  of  Mr.  Kerry, 
the  butler.  The  soup  and  fish  and  meat  had  always 
been  brought  on  with  silent  dignity,  had  received 
the  immediate  attention  of  Robert  and  Will,  and 
been  dismissed  to  the  kitchen,  for  the  proper  lei 
surely  enjoyment.  Their  evening  talks  and  discus 
sions  had  been  generally  over  the  dessert,  or  more 
frequently  still  later,  when  My  Lady  Nicotine  sang 
to  them  the  song  of  the  siren. 

But  Ambrosia  calmly  abrogated  these  laws  of  the 
domestic  Medes  and  Persians.  She  trifled  with  the 
soup  until  Kerry  was  nervous.  Will  had  just  told 
her  of  the  marriage  of  Miss  Jones  to  the  rich  rector 
of  a  fashionable  church  in  Washington,  and  Ambrosia 
sipped  and  talked,  and  talked  and  sipped,  until 
Kerry  considered  that  only  one  word,  "  outrageous," 
was  adequate  to  express  the  situation. 

"  Robert,  Miss  Jones  has  been  married  a  month 
to  the  Rev.  Jay  Bank.  What  do  you  think  she  has 
found  out?" 

"  Many  things,  I  dare  say.  Your  soup  will  get 
cold,  and  it  is  excellent  soup.  Do  you  not  think  so  ?" 

"  Pretty  good.  It  ought  to  be  better.  I  know  some 
things  Gertrude  has  found  out ;  first,  that  the  vestry, 
door  does  not  close  upon  a  being  mystic,  wonderful ! 
A  being  of  beautiful  sermons  and  spotless  neckties.'* 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  mistaken,  my  dear.  Miss — 
the  lady,  may  still  be  infatuated." 


86  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  What  I  mean  is  that  she  is  now  familiar  with 
him  on  his  own  hearth-rug.  She  has  seen  him 
cross  and  commonplace  at  his  breakfast-table — eating- 
chops  and  eggs  and  reading  the  New  York  Herald. 
She  has  heard  him  grumble  over  a  badly  cooked 
dinner.  The  vestry-door  is  quite  a  common  door 
now.  It  is  a  pity,  perhaps." 

"  I  suppose  he  has  a  good  income." 
"  I  dare  say.  I  remember  Gertrude  speaking  of  him 
as  in  the  true  Apostolic  Succession.     But  the — the  in 
come  may  not  be  regulated  by  apostolic  precedents." 
"  I  should  think  not.     Some  of  the  clergy  have 
large  incomes." 

"  They  ought  to  have.  The  Gospel  does  not  keep 
the  wolf  from  the  door ;  does  it,  Will  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !  And  the  law  has  no  -special  favors 
for  clerical  debtors." 

That  was  the  kind  of  talk  that  delayed  the  soup  ; 
and  when  Kerry  brought  in  the  fish,  he  said  : 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  spoiled,  sir,  it  has  been  waiting 
so  very  long,  sir." 

Ambrosia  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  She  trifled  a  long 
time  over  a  very  small  piece  ;  for  she  had  got  as  far 
as  the  probable  amount  of  Miss  Jones's  fortune. 
Will  mentioned  a  certain  sum.  Ambrosia  laughed 
at  the  dimensions.  Robert  asserted  that  he  had  seen 
it  in  print.  Ambrosia  settled  the  matter  by  saying : 
"  Very  well,  Robert ;  but  ciphers  are  cheap,  and  Ger 
trude  used  them  freely  when  she  spoke  of  her 
fortune." 

The  roast  came  on  really  burnt.  Kerry's  attitude 
was  that  of  a  man  who  feels  apology  to  be  unde 
served.  If  people  would  talk,  burnt  meat  was  the 
necessary  consequence.  Ambrosia  said :  "  It  must 


When  Love  Is  Lord  Of  AIL  87 

be  attended  to."  The  words  appeared  simple,  but 
the  observant  butler  declared  afterward  "  there  was 
whole  volumes  in  them."  And  somehow  the  burnt 
meat  suggested  to  Will  a  certain  grim  tragedy  that 
had  occurred  while  Robert  was  away ;  a  man  had 
quarreled  with  his  mates  and,  while  they  were  sleep 
ing,  had  set  fire  to  the  house  and  burnt  them.  Then 
the  villagers  had  lynched  the  murderer.  The  story 
brought  on  a  long  discussion  on  the  wisdom  and  au 
thority  of  Judge  Lynch,  whom  Will  called  the  "Amer 
ican  Lycurgus."  There  was  often  a  certain  antique 
bon  ton  in  Will's  comparisons,  because  he  read  the 
Greek  and  Latin  classics  so  lovingly  ;  and  Ambrosia 
told  him  so.  The  compliment  made  Will  blush  with 
pleasure,  and  put  him  to  his  mettle  in  the  matter  of 
small-talk  ;  so  that  the  dinner  lasted  a  full  hour  and 
a  half.  Kerry  had  no  adjectives  left  by  that  time.  He 
simply  flung  off  his  coat  and  remained  speechless,  a 
spectacle  of  exhaustion  to  his  wife  and  comrades. 

"  Of  course,  Ambrosia  was  severely  criticised  ;  but 
she  was  quite  indifferent  to  the  circumstance.  Her 
husband  was  talking  softly  to  her  of  their  love  and 
their  future  ;  and  in  the  next  parlor  Will  was  thrill 
ing  the  air  with  music,  whose  dew-drop  cobweb  of 
harmony  and  glittering  caprice  at  length  touched 
the  senses  of  the  self-absorbed  married  lovers. 

"  What  is  Will  playing  ?  It  is  wonderful !  Like 
the  music  of  spirits  !"  said  Ambrosia. 

Robert  rose  and  pushed  aside  the  porttire. 

"Will,  Will,  tell  us  what  you  are  playing?"  he 
cried.  "  You  are  taking  us  from  ourselves  !" 

"I  played  first  the  adorable  'Ballet  of  Sylphs/ 
from  the  '  Faust '  of  Berlioz,  and  after  it  the  '  Minuet 
of  Will-o'-the-wisps.'  " 


88  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  But  I  never  heard  such  music." 

"  If  you  have  never  heard  the  music  of  Berlioz,  then 
you  have  never  heard  anything-  which  can  remind 
you  of  it.  He  is  the  musician  of  the  supernatural. 
Like  Beddoes,he  was 'tired  of  being  merely  human.' " 

"  And  we  might  have  heard  his  music  in  Paris?" 

"  Perhaps.  I  do  not  know.  Listen  to  this  setting  of 
the '  Mephistopheles '  music.  Listen  to  its  fatal  monot 
onous  progression.  It  is  like  a  galloping  nightmare." 

"  No,  no !"  said  Ambrosia.  "  Play  something  pleas- 
anter  than  that !" 

"  Well,  then,  the  great  love-duet  between  Faust 
and  Margaret ;"  and,  as  the  aching  intensity  and 
radiant  pulsations  filled  the  room,  each  heart  swelled 
and  beat  to  them.  Will  turned  with  a  face  fairly 
transfigured.  "  Berlioz  knew  what  a  love-duet  should 
be  like.  He  has  written  one,  worthy  even  of  Faust 
and  Margaret." 

"  I  always  thought,"  said  Ambrosia,  softly,  "  that 
it  was  Gounod  who  wrote  '  Faust?'  " 

"  Ah,  Gounod's  Faust  and  Margaret  is  a  very  dif 
ferent  one  to  the  '  Faust '  of  Berlioz.  In  the  '  Faust ' 
of  Berlioz,  humanity  breaks  bounds,  as  it  ought  to 
do,  and  the  other  world  surges  into  this  world. 
Gounod's  '  Faust '  takes  one  far  in  a  contrary  direc 
tion  ;  into  a  fair  meadow-land  of  smiling  common 
places,  where  his  melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 
If  you  have  the  heart  to  feel  it,  the  '  Faust '  of  Ber 
lioz  is  incomparably  the  greater." 

With  this  fine  music,  their  first  evening  of  home- 
life  closed  ;  they  were  not  inclined  for  conversation 
after  it.  They  clasped  hands  and  smiled  good  night, 
ending  the  happy  hours,  best  of  all,  by  making  them 
happy  in  the  time  of  their  ending. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"BUT   THIS   IS   HUMAN   LIFE." 

But  this  is  human  life — 

The  disappointment,  the  anxiety, 

Imaginations,  struggles  far  and  nigh, 

All  human  ;  bearing  in  themselves  this  good — 

That  they  are  still  the  air,  the  subtle  food, 

To  make  us  feel  existence  ;  and  to  show 

How  quiet  death  is.  — Keats. 

The  days  slip  into  each  other  ;  none  of  them  stand 
by  themselves.  Something  that  we  did  yesterday, 
or  something  that  we  are  to  do  to-morrow,  invades 
to-day  ;  and  thus  we  live  in  the  past  and  in  the 
future  as  well  as  in  the  present.  Ambrosia  could 
not  escape  this  entanglement  of  duties  and  interests. 
She  desired  to  give  a  whole  day  to  her  father  and 
step-mother,  but  there  was  ever  something  to  do 
from  the  past  or  something  to  prepare  for  the 
future,  and  a  week  elapsed  before  she  felt  able  to 
leave  everything  and  go  to  Mayberry.  Will  took 
her  to  the  train,  but  she  would  not  allow  him  to  ac 
company  her  further.  Her  heart  told  her  there  was 
sorrow  at  home  with  which  no  stranger  should  in 
termeddle. 

It  was  an  exquisite  day,  full  of  that  languid  mel 
ancholy  which,  at  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  covers  nature 

189J 


\ 

90  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

like  a  vail.  The  gladdest  human  heart  shares  it ; 
the  beat  of  the  swiftest  brain  falters  in  it.  It  made 
an  unconsidered  "  hush  "  even  in  the  small  manu 
facturing-  villages  through  which  she  passed.  The 
open  doors  and  windows  of  the  houses  let  it  in  to  the 
hearths  of  the  noisiest  homes.  The  young  were 
quiet  and  inclined  to  sentimental  reflections ;  the 
aged  and  the  sick  felt  that  they  were  but  bound 
sheaves  ready  for  the  harvesting.  Hope  was  not  in 
the  air  nor  in  the  heart ;  only  wistful  reverie,  retro 
spection,  resignation. 

Mayberry  was  not  at  any  time  a  cheerful  place. 
It  stood  a  little  back  from  the  country  road,  and  the 
low  meadows,  the  brook  and  the  ugly  pollard  wil 
lows,  which  were  its  immediate  features,  had  a  lonely, 
unhappy  look.  She  had  taken  a  railroad  hack  at  the 
station  in  order  \.^  reach  it  quickly,  and  the  torn, 
frowsy  cushions  and  the  halting  horse  caused  her  to 
make  some  very  startling  comparisons.  No  one  saw 
her  approach.  Her  father  was  in  the  orchard,  watch 
ing  the  apple-gatherers.  Clara  was  in  the  dairy 
making  butter.  She  went  into  the  open  house  and 
called  Clara,  and  then,  in  her  company,  they  went 
into  the  orchard  for  Mr.  Shepherd. 

They  walked  silently,  hand  in  hand,  their  tight 
clasp  and  their  speaking  eyes  making  words  poor 
and  unnecessary.  Each  knew  the  other's  heart. 
Compliments  and  protestations  would  have  been  the 
emptiest  of  forms.  Explanations  and  apologies  were 
understood.  Through  the  withered  grass  and  the 
fallen  leaves  they  went  to  where  her  father  stood 
under  the  apple-trees. 

It  was  the  same  gentlemanly,  kindly  man  Am 
brosia  had  always  called  "  father."  And  yet  some 


This  Is  Human  Life''  91 

inscrutable  change  had  taken  place.     No  one  knew 
this  better  than  Ambrose  Shepherd  himself. 

"  I  have  turned  aside  into  this  quiet  place  to  die, 
my  dear,"  he  said,  to  his  daughter  ;  "  and  I  am  yet  a 
young  man." 

What  lament  was  in  his  voice  !  For  no  one  accepts 
such  a  fate  without  infinite  sadnesses  and  regrets. 

"  No,  father  ;  you  have  come  here  to  prolong  your 
life,  that  is  all." 

"  But  why  prolong  it  ?  I  am  not  permitted  to  do 
my  work.  All  I  planned  is  left  unfinished." 

" Cannot  Tom  carry  out  your  designs?" 

She  knew  Tom  could  not ;  but  she  asked  the  ques 
tion  with  some  vague  intent  of  giving  the  dying 
man  hope  or  a  relief  for  his  disappointment. 

But  he  answered  sadly  : 

"  No  man  completes  another's  work.  '  The  unfin 
ished  window  in  Aladdin's  Tower  unfinished  must 
remain.' ' 

She  was  glad  to  see  his  favorite  books  on  the  table 
by  his  chair ;  glad  to  know  that  there  were  still  in 
tervals  in  which  he  could  glean  comfort  from  them. 
She  talked  to  him  of  her  travels  and  adventures,  of 
the  strange  sights  she  had  seen  and  the  strange 
people  she  had  talked  with ;  and  generally  he  list 
ened  with  a  pleased  and  intelligent  curiosity.  But 
he  soon  wearied  and  grew  restless  and  melancholy. 
In  the  middle  of  a  vivid  description  of  a  Parisian 
opera,  he  said  fretfully  : 

"  I  can  listen  no  longer,  Amber.  Good-bye,  my 
dear,  good-bye  !"  then,  taking  Clara's  arm,  he  went 
to  his  own  room,  and  Ambrosia  was  left  alone  with 
such  sad  and  solemn  thoughts  as  could  not  be  evaded 
nor  yet  deceived  with  false  hopes. 


92  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

When  Clara  returned,  she  tried,  for  Ambrosia's 
sake,  to  recapture  the  spirit  of  this  world.  She  asked 
if  they  had  met  Bessie  in  Europe,  and  smiled  sym 
pathetically  when  Ambrosia  answered  they  had  not 
tried  very  hard.  They  wanted  to  be  alone.  It  was 
so  much  nicer.  She  insisted  on  discussing  all  the 
whims  and  frivolities  of  Vanity  Fair.  Ambrosia's 
new  dresses,  her  house,  the  parties  she  intended  to 
give ;  even  her  small  animosities  and  her  contem 
plated  social  triumphs.  And,  as  they  talked,  Clara 
spread  the  table  and  fried  a  chicken  and  made  the 
chocolate  Ambrosia  loved. 

"  I  have  but  one  servant,"  she  said,  as  she  placed 
the  food  on  the  table,  "  and  she  is  among  the  apples. 
Then,  it  is  so  pleasant  to  do  anything  for  you,  Am 
ber." 

"  But  not  this  kind  of  work,  Clara.  I  cannot  bear 
to  see  it." 

"  I  was  born  on  a  poorer  farm  than  Mayberry.  I 
cooked  and  made  butter  and  swept  and  dusted  until 
I  came  to  you.  As  long  as  he  was  able,  your  father 
gave  me  everything  a  woman  could  desire.  I  took 
him  for  better  or  worse.  Poor  Ambrose  !  His  is 
the  hardest  lot.  For  he  loves  life,  and  yet  he  knows 
that  he  must  die.  Have  you  seen  Tom  since  you 
returned  ?" 

"  He  called  last  Sunday.  I  do  not  think  Robert 
likes  Tom.  He  has  said  nothing  to  that  effect,  but 
I  could  not  help  feeling  it.  How  is  Tom  doing  as 
regards  father's  business  ?" 

"  He  was  here  once  since  you  were  married.  He 
told  me  in  the  rudest  manner  that  there  was  no 
business.  He  said  his  father  had  left  everything  in 
confusion,  and  talked  about — saving  your  father's 


"But   This  Is  Human  Life."  93 

good  name.  I  did  not  let  Ambrose  see  him.  It  is  a 
cruel  situation.  I  wrote  last  week  to  your  father's 
lawyer." 

"  Have  you  any  money,  Clara?" 

<l  Very  little.  The  farm  was  partially  to  stock. 
We  were  deceived  in  that  matter.  And  tools  were 
taken  away  and  had  to  be  replaced.  And  the  results 
of  farming  come  in  so  far  apart  and  in  such  pitiful 
sums — a  few  dollars  for  butter  and  eggs  now  and 
then  ;  that  is  all  yet.  Next  year  we  shall  have  the 
crops." 

"  I  have  fifty  dollars  with  me,  and  you  must  take 
them,  dear." 

"  Certainly  not,  Amber.  The  money  is  your  hus 
band's  money.  It  would  be  a  kind  of  theft  in  both 
of  us." 

"  I  am  sure  Robert  would  like  me  to  leave  it." 

"  Do  nothing  and  give  nothing  without  his  ap 
proval.  After  money  is  given,  it  is  too  late  to  ask 
him." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  Robert  about  every  cent  I  spend." 

"If  you  give  money  away  you  must  ask  him.  I 
do  not  fear  poverty,  if  I  can  keep  out  of  debt.  But 
oh,  Amber,  there  are  no  wolves  like  those  debt  sends 
around  a  house !  Do  you  remember  that  play  in 
which  the  hero  uses  his  arm  as  a  bolt  to  keep  out  the 
long-fanged,  ever-increasing  pack  of  wolves,  who 
were  ready  to  tear  the  house  down.  It  made  my 
heart  ache  with  the  old  terror.  For  I  remember 
when  my  father  was  putting  his  life  against  our  door 
to  keep  out  the  wolves  of  debt.  Your  father  saved 
him  and  my  mother ;  and  they  still  live  on  the  farm 
that  Ambrose  Shepherd  rescued.  If  the  worst  should 
come,  we  can  go  there  and  be  most  welcome.  I  wish 


94  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

you  would  send  for  Tom  to  your  house.  Find  out 
what  he  is  doing  and  how  he  is  living.  See  if  there 
is  any  hope  of  him  settling  his  father's  affairs.  If 
not,  tell  me  truly.  I  shall  then  be  able  to  estimate 
the  best  and  the  worst — perhaps  Robert  will  help 
you  in  these  inquiries." 

"  I  should  not  like  to  trouble  Robert  about  Tom. 
He  dislikes  him.  Perhaps  he  knows  something 
about  Tom  that  we  do  not  know.  I  never  saw  him 
so  coldly  polite  to  any  one  as  he  is  to  Tom.  I  have 
almost  quarreled  with  him  on  this  subject." 

"  If  such  is  the  case,  do  not  move  in  any  inquiry 
about  Tom  without  Robert's  knowledge.  Tom's 
love  for  any  human  creature  is  not  worth  much.  He 
is  so  absorbed  in  himself  as  to  be  devoid  and  stripped 
of  common  politeness." 

"  He  was  very  polite  to  Robert,  in  spite  of  Robert's 
coldness." 

"  If  Tom  yielded  an  inch,  it  was  only  to  get  his 
own  way.  Perhaps  you  had  better  have  nothing  to 
do  with  him.  There  are  some  things  a  wife  is  bound 
to  honor  her  husband's  feelings  in,  without  dispute  ; 
and  one  of  these  is  certainly  to  ask  nobody  across 
his  threshold  who  is  disagreeable  to  him." 

After  this  the  conversation  was  depressed  and 
broken.  Clara  was  frequently  called  away,  and  the 
sense  of  homely  duties  and  working  garments  was 
unpleasant  to  Amber.  She  had  visited  several  old 
farm-houses  in  England,  and  been  charmed  with 
their  great  kitchens  scented  with  all  kinds  of  herbs 
— their  sanded  floors — their  ivory-like  deal  furni 
ture — their  comely  women — bare-armed  and  trigly 
shod,  busy  among  the  cheese  and  curds ;  and  she 
had  felt  the  antique  charm,  the  Homeric  simplicity 


"But  This  Is  Human  Life"  95 

of  such  a  life.  But  this  painted  wood  house,  with  its 
carpeted  sitting-room  and  its  sense  of  loneliness  and 
uncongenial  labor,  was  a  mournful  incongruity. 
There  was  no  air  of  prosperity  about  it ;  no  lowing 
cattle  and  busy  servants ;  none  of  the  stir  and  bustle 
of  production  of  any  kind. 

She  was  glad  to  get  back  into  the  living  world,  and 
oh,  so  glad  to  enter  once  more  the  handsome  portal 
of  her  own  home  !  It  was  full  of  warmth  and  light, 
and  a  large  basket  of  fresh  flowers  filled  it  with  the 
scent  of  summer.  She  longed  to  fling  from  her  con 
sciousness  all  the  day's  unhappy  influences.  It 
seemed  good  to  wash  away  the  very  dust  of  its 
•weary  hours  ;  to  put  out  of  sight  the  plain,  tweed 
travelling-suit  associated  with  it ;  to  robe  herself  in 
rose  colors  ;  to  put  gems  upon  her  hands  and  flowers 
at  her  bosom  and  the  rich  perfume  of  Persia  on  her 
garments. 

She  would  not  let  Robert  question  her  at  dinner ; 
she  determined  to  save  the  sad  recital  for  their  hours 
of  sacred  personal  confidences.  And  Robert  was 
only  too  glad  to  humor  so  pleasant  a  mood.  He 
proposed  a  visit  to  the  theatre,  and  he  was  only 
half-satisfied  when  Amber  said  she  had  not  dressed 
for  the  theatre  but  for  his  special  gratification.  For 
after  a  man  is  married  he  is  not  averse  to  showing 
off  the  beauty  of  his  wife,  and  to  feeling  the  envy  of 
the  men  he  knows  a  little  addition  to  his  own  good 
fortune. 

He  took  her  on  his  arm  with  admiring  glances, 
and  as  they  were  entering  the  dining-room  Will 
joined  them.  He  was  flushed  and  excited  and  eager 
to  chatter.  He  had  been  at  a  great  meeting  of  very 
good  people,  who  had  met  to  consider  what  methods 


96  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

were  to  be  taken  to  provide  the  workingman  and  the 
•workingwoman  with  refined  amusements. 

"  As  if  any  of  you  understood  the  workingman  or 
the  workingwoman,"  said  Ambrosia,  scornfully.  "  I 
once  took  a  class  of  girls  out  of  Third  Avenue  stores. 
I  soon  began  to  smile  at  my  own  ignorance.  I  found 
out  that  these  girls  considered  society  girls  as  de 
cidedly  behind  the  time — as  wanting  chic  and  style. 
They  criticised  our  way  of  dressing  and  our  man- 
ners,  and  laughed  at  our  patronage.  You  should 
have  seen  them  mimic  Miss  Jones.  I  know,  Will, 
for  I  got  at  the  heart  of  one  of  them.  I  invited  her 
to  a  party,  and  she  was  the  toniest  girl  in  the 
room." 

"  The  working-class  can  take  very  good  care  of 
themselves,"  added  the  doctor.  "  If  people  would 
not  try  to  '  elevate  '  them,  if  they  could  not  be  '  got 
at,'  I  am  sure  it  would  be  an  advantage.  Every 
generation  has  its  standing  moral  patient.  It  used 
to  be  the  noble  savage  or  the  negro.  Now  philan 
thropists  are  walking  the  working-classes  just  as  a 
young  doctor  walks  the  hospitals." 

"We  are  trying,  Robert,  to  find  out  how  much 
good  there  is  in  every  soul,  and  to  judge  men  from 
their  own  standpoint,  not  from  ours.  I  think  that  is 
a  great  movement." 

"  '  Movement !'  '  Movement !'  We  have  had  the 
Tract  Movement  and  the  Abolition  Movement  and 
the  Temperance  Movement,  and  now  it  is  the  Work- 
ingman's  Movement." 

"  The  good  such  '  movements '  do  is  simply  incal- 
culable.  I  can  assure  you  of  that,  Robert." 

"Certainly,  Will.  There  must  be  much  honest 
sincerity  mixed  with  the  cant  and  self-delusion  they 


"Bid  This  Is  Human  Life"  97 

invite.  You  are  honest,  for  instance.  And  there 
must  be  many  like  you.  You  gain  nothing,  and  you 
give  a  great  deal.  That  is  a  good  test." 

"  The  poor  have  to  work  so  hard." 

"  There  you  are  decidedly  wrong,  Will.  The  poor 
learn  from  their  infancy  a  lesson  our  men  of  brains 
and  commerce  never  learn — that  is  to  take  their  work 
easily.  Do  you  ever  see  a  workingman  in  a  hurry  ? 
Are  they  ever  anxious  to  finish  a  certain  amount  ? 
Do  they  lay  one  brick  beyond  their  tale  of  time  ? 
Do  they  ever  put  themselves  into  their  task  ?" 

"  They  are  not  paid  for  such  vital  labor." 

"  Are  stockbrokers  and  editors  and  merchants 
paid  for  it  ?  Can  a  man  be  paid  for  his  life  ?  Not 
unless  he  gives  it  away." 

"  Then  the  workingman  is  a  sensible  man  not  to 
encroach  on  his  reserve  vital  power." 

"  I  do  not  say  but  that  he  is.  I  only  say  that  you 
are  busy  teaching  your  grandmother  in  agitating 
the  question  of  his  relief  in  this  direction.  Amber, 
do  you  recollect  that  party  of  jolly  ditchers  we  came 
upon  suddenly  at  the  foot  of  Helvellyn  ?" 

"  Very  well.  I  remember  also  the  answer  one  of 
them  gave  you  about  their  easy  way  of  taking 
life  and  labor.  You  know  it  was  in  rhyme,  Rob 
ert." 

"  An  old  rhyme,  hundreds  of  years  old,  and  yet  it 
spoke  for  the  laborer  of  to-day,  as  it  doubtless  spoke 
for  his  brother  in  feudal  times.  Can  you  repeat  it, 
Amber?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  can.  You  see,  Will,  Robert  asked 
them,  if  their  work  was  not  very  hard,  and  an  old 
man,  with  a  rosy  face  and  the  merriest  blue  eyes, 
answered ; 


9  8  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

" '  Nay,  not  it,  master.  We  get  through  the  week 
pretty  handily,  for  thou  sees — 

"  '  Monday  is  Sunday's  brother, 
And  Tuesday  is  such  another  ; 
On  Wednesday  we  stop  a  bit  to  pray, 
And  Thursday  is  half  holiday  ; 
On  Friday  it  is  too  late  to  hurry  and  strain, 
And  Saturday  is  half-holiday  again.'  " 

"  Very  good  for  the  foot  of  Helvellyn,"  answered 
Will ;  "  but  the  '  bosses '  of  New  York  would  soon 
take  all  the  truth  out  of  the  old  rhyme." 

"Come,  Amber,"  said  Robert,  "let  us  drop  the 
workingman  and  get  away  to  the  opera  for  an  hour 
or  two.  To-morrow  I  must  begin  to  'hurry  and 
strain ;'  so  let  us  take  half-holiday  to-night." 

Amber  rose  with  pleased  alacrity,  and  in  a  short 
time  they  were  feeling  in  all  its  sharp  intensity  that 
sense  of  life  and  brotherhood  which  music  and  the 
atmosphere  of  living,  crowding  humanity  create. 
They  entered  during  a  slight  interval,  and  there  was 
a  conscious  recognition  of  the  doctor  and  his  beau- 
tiful  bride.  Will's  happy  face  beamed  salutations. 

Amber  sat  between  Robert  and  Will,  her  hand 
upon  Robert's  hand,  her  form  slightly  bending  to 
ward  him  as  if  drawn  by  the  attraction  of  his  per- 
sonality.  Suddenly  she  felt  his  hand  tremble,  and, 
glancing  upward,  she  caught  the  direction  of  his 
angry  eyes  and  followed  their  glance. 

In  a  box  nearly  opposite,  Tom  Shepherd  was  mak 
ing  himself  conspicuous.  The  effort  was  hardly  re 
quired,  for  the  woman  with  him  was  sufficiently 
remarkable.  Undoubtedly  she  was  a  great  beauty 
of  a  certain  type.  Her  hair  was  golden  in  hue  ;  her 
cheeks  held  the  loveliest  tints  of  white  and  rose ; 


"But  This  Is  Human  Life"  99 

"her  eyes  were  large,  rolling  and  intensely  black  ;  her 
form  superbly  lavish,  and  she  wore  large  and  many 
diamonds  of  the  .purest  water.  Robert's  and  Am 
brosia's  eyes  fell  on  her  at  the  same  moment,  and 
then  they  involuntarily  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Tom  is  coming  here,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  hur 
ried  whisper;  "and  it  will  not  do.  Sit  still  with 
Will.  I  will  go  to  meet  him." 

"  Robert,  I  cannot  refuse  to  see  my  brother." 

"  But  not  here  ;"  and  with  an  intelligent  glance  he 
gave  Ambrosia  into  Will's  charge  and  left  the  box. 

In  about  ten  minutes  he  returned,  white  and  silent. 
The  joy  of  the  evening  was  over ;  and  before  the 
opera  was  finished,  Amber  asked  if  he  would  not 
wish  to  go  home.  Robert  gladly  agreed  to  the  pro 
posal.  Silence  and  gloom,  apparently  without  ade 
quate  cause,  had  taken  the  place  of  that  gay  abandon 
to  the  pleasure  of  the  moment  which  is  the  first 
condition  of  enjoyment.  Only  Will  made  any  at 
tempt  to  talk. 

"  We  ought  to  be  taught  how  to  amuse  ourselves," 
he  said  with  a  little  derisive  shrug.  "  In  the  middle 
of  an  opera  we  do  not  know  how  to  be  happy. 
Nearly  all  who  went  to  hear  Verdi  to-night  had 
arranged  the  affair  with  careful  calculation,  and  were 
conscientiously  trying  to  enjoy  themselves.  But,  did 
they  do  so  ?  No  !  No  !  The  men  were  all  business 
like  in  their  dress-coats,  and  to  go  to  the  opera  with 
their  wives  and  sweethearts  must  be  really  a  splendid 
waste  of  their  energy." 

Ambrosia  did  not  reply.  Robert's  answer  was 
without  interest,  and  Will  perceived  that  he  was  the 
"third"  that  is  often  so  unwelcome.  He  took  no 
offense.  His  organ  was  ready  to  converse  with  him 


ioo  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

at  any  time,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  beautifully 
interweaving  on  it  musical  chains  of  harmony. 

Ambrosia  had  taken  off  her  shining  cloak,  and  she 
was  now  folding  it  with  some  deliberation  across  the 
back  of  her  chair.  Robert  watched  her  movements. 
He  was  admiring  her  grace  and  beauty  but  not  feel 
ing  any  impulse  to  express  his  admiration.  Other 
emotions  were  eager  to  explain  themselves,  but  it 
was  Ambrosia  who  invited  a  discussion  of  them. 
She  turned  to  Robert,  full  of  the  purpose,  and  asked : 

"  What  did  my  brother  Tom  say  to  you  ?" 

"  He  wished  to  come  to  our  box  and  speak  to  you. 
I  said  he  could  not  do  so.  I  regretted  it,  but  could 
not  possibly  consent — under  the  circumstances." 

"  But  why  not  ?  Tom  is  my  brother,  and  I  am  very 
fond  of  him." 

"  Did  you  see  the  woman  who  was  with  him  ?  To 
have  permitted  Tom,  in  the  sight  of  the  whole  house, 
to  come  from  her  side  to  your  side  would  have  been 
to  offer  you  a  great  insult.  She  must  have  dared 
Tom  to  make  the  attempt.  It  is  like  her." 

"  Oh  !     You  know  her,  then  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  her." 

"  Tom  is  my  brother." 

"  It  is  difficult  to  believe  it." 

"  I  love  Tom." 

"  Are  we  to  quarrel  about  Tom  Shepherd  ?" 

"  Tom  is  my  brother.  Not  to  receive  Tom  publicly 
is  to  give  the  world  permission  to  say :  '  Doctor  Car 
ter  married  Ambrosia  Shepherd,  but  he  will  not 
acknowledge  her  family.' " 

"  You  know  that  is  not  true." 

"  But  it  seems  true.  Father  and  Clara  cannot 
trouble  you.  Tom  is  the  only  member  of  my  family 


"But  This  Is  Human  Life."  101 

you  have  any  opportunity  to  be  familiar  with,  and 
you  always  do  your  best  to  insult  him." 

"  How  has  Tom  Shepherd  treated  your  father  and 
tiis  wife  ?" 

"You  are  not  called  upon  to  take  up  father's 
quarrel.  I  say  that  before  the  world  you  ought  to 
treat  Tom  as  your  brother-in-law." 

"  Amber,  my  dear  wife,  in  this  matter  you  must 
take  my  word.  You  must  trust  me." 

She  turned  away,  lifted  her  cloak,  and  went  silently 
out  of  the  room.  Robert  saw  that  she  was  deeply 
offended.  She  declined  afterward  to  discuss  the 
subject.  She  said  only:  "Tom  is  my  brother."  This 
was  Ambrosia's  method  of  dealing  with  any  unpleas 
ant  question ;  first  to  make  a  strong  assertion  and 
then  afterward  to  preserve  a  provoking  silence.  She 
had  seldom  found  these  tactics  to  fail ;  for  men  in 
an  especial  manner  dislike  to  oppose,  where  there  is 
not  even  an  apparent  resistance.  Still  Robert  dis 
covered  that  night  that  a  silent  woman  can  be  a 
thousand  times  more  aggravating  than  a  disputatious 
one.  For  there  is  some  hope  of  influencing  a  woman 
who  will  talk,  but  one  who  is  perversely  dumb  is 
likely  to  be  perversely  deaf,  also. 

In  the  morning  she  was  in  the  same  provoking 
mood.  She  would  talk  on  any  subject  but  the  one 
Robert  felt  to  be  so  keenly  urgent.  If  he  uttered 
Tom's  name,  she  was  engaged  or  she  did  not  hear ; 
•or,  if  compelled  to  listen,  answered  with  an  untrans 
latable  shrug.  The  mail  brought  her  several  let 
ters.  Robert  was  sure  one  of  them  was  from  Tom  ; 
and  he  looked  anxiously  at  Ambrosia  as  she  exam 
ined  the  envelopes  and  then  laid  it  aside.  But  he 
would  not  ask :  "  Is  that  letter  from  Tom  ?"  And 


IO2  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Ambrosia  said  nothing  on  the  subject.  So  Robert 
left  her  that  morning  with  a  cold  and  resentful 
"  good-bye."  And  she  did  not  perceive  that  some 
thing  had  happened  which  never  should  have  hap 
pened  ;  and  that  she  had  sown  an  evil  seed  of  sus 
picion  in  her  husband's  heart. 

Yet  she  was  troubled  and  unhappy  enough,  and 
Tom's  letter  did  not  make  her  less  so.  He  had  evi 
dently  written  it  in  haste  from  the  hotel  at  which 
he  supped ;  and  it  was  so  untidy  as  to  give  the 
impression  either  of  great  anger  or  of  the  absence 
of  all  respect  for  his  sister's  position. 

"DEAR  Sis :  Your  husband  has  just  told  me  that  I  am  not  to 
call  upon  you.  What  does  he  mean  ?  Did  I  not  love  you  long 
before  he  did?  Are  you  going  to  deny  your  own  flesh  and  blood 
for  him  ?  I  hope  not,  sis.  You  know  that  if  I  love  anybody  in 
the  world,  it  is  you.  If  I  cannot  come  to  your  fine  house,  I  sup 
pose  you  can  come  to  Maillard's?  I  shall  be  there  for  lunch  at 
one  o'clock  to-morrow.  I  expect  to  see  you,  and  you  must  not 
disappoint  me. 

"  Your  loving  brother,  TOM." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A   VISIT   AND   A   QUARREL. 

Come  away  !     Break  through  all  delays  !     Woman  is 
A  fickle  and  changeful  thing.  — Virgil. 

To  willful  men 

The  injuries  that  they  themselves  procure 
Must  be  their  schoolmasters.  — Shakespeare. 

At  the  same  hour  Mr.. Madison  and  his  daughter 
Bessie  were  taking  breakfast  together.  Mr.  Madison 
had  delayed  this  meal  much  beyond  his  usual  hour 
in  order  to  give  himself  the  pleasure  of  Bessie's  so 
ciety  ;  for  she  had  just  returned  from  her  European 
trip,  and  her  presence  was  very  charming  to  him. 
Also  he  had  something  important  to  say,  and  he 
wished  to  secure  her  sympathy  in  his  own  plans  be 
fore  she  had  time  to  make  others  which  would  inter 
fere  with  them. 

It  was  Bessie  a  little  more  sun-browned,  a  little 
more  womanly,  a  little  more  self-reliant  and  self- 
appreciative,  that  came  into  the  room,  with  her  head 
well  up  and  her  pretty  form  the  center  of  a  wonder 
ful  combination  of  floating  pale-pink  cashmere  and 
silk,  lace  and  rosettes  of  ribbon. 

"  Is  it  not  pretty?"  she  asked,  as  her  father  kissed 

[103] 


IO4  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

and  then  held  her  off  at  arms'  length  to  admire. 
"  I  expect  Cousin  Amber  this  morning,  and  you 
know  how  airish  brides  always  are,  father.  But  in 
this  gown  I  shall  feel  equal  to  Mrs.  Dr.  Carter." 

"  You  look — stunning !  I  know  no  other  word, 
Bessie." 

"  That  word  will  do,  father."  And  she  seated  her- 
self  carefully,  letting  her  drapery  fall  into  its  proper 
curves  and  folds,  and  slightly  drawing  upward  the 
sleeves,  in  order  to  shield  their  elaborate  lace  trim 
mings.  "  Yes,  I  wrote  to  Amber  yesterday.  I  told 
her  I  had  a  cold  and  a  troublesome  cough,  and  you 
see  how  badly  I  am  sunburnt.  It  will  take  at  least 
four  days'  attention  to  make  my  face  presentable. 
So  I  wrote  for  Amber.  I  want  to  see  how  she  looks 
• — and  acts.  Marriage  always  changes  people  so 
much.  But  she  will  not  put  on  married  graces  to 
me,  I  think.  I  shall  only  laugh  at  them." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  quarrel." 

"  Human  nature  is  fallible ;  but,  as  a  rule,  girls  do 
not  eat  girls." 

"We  are  all  fallible." 

"  Except  the  New  York  Herald.  I  like  the  Herald 
just  because  it  is  so  sure  of  its  own  infallibility — so 
sure  it  knows  everything  about  everything.  I  in 
tend  to  cultivate  the  same  conviction.  It  must  be 
lovely  to  feel  positive  that  one  is  always  right  and 
always  must  be  right,  and  that  every  one  who  doubts 
our  always  being  right  is  either  a  very  silly  or  a  very 
disreputable  person." 

Mr.  Madison  fluttered  his  Herald  and  laughed. 
He  could  not  help  regarding  his  little  girl  with  an 
intense  amusement  and  enjoyment.  She  was  so  im 
posing  in  her  fineries,  she  seemed  to  be  everybody 


A    Visit  and  a  Quarrel.  105 

in  the  room,  to  demand  so  much  attention,  to  fill  up 
so  much  mental  space,  that  he  said  : 

"  You  are  so  light  and  sweet  and  so  apparently 
important,  Bessie,  that  you  remind  me  of  nothing  so 
much  as  whipped  cream.  There  is  not  really  a  great 
deal  of  you  and  yet,  somehow,  you  fill  the  room.  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  nobody  at  all." 

"  That  is  because  you  are  dressed  in  a  yard  or  two 
of  gray  tweed.  If  you  had  velvet  breeches  on  and 
a  plush  coat,  lined  with  satin  and  laces  at  your  fingers 
and  diamonds  on  your  toes,  you  would  feel  very  im 
posing." 

"  I  should  feel  like  a  fool  or  a  flunkey." 

"  But  is  not  whipped  cream  nice  ?  A  great  many 
persons  prefer  it  to  roast-beef.  And  though  it  does 
take  up  a  deal  of  room  it  has  its  individuality.  If 
you  were  to  compress  it  in  any  way,  then  it  would 
cease  to  be  whipped  cream.  Would  you  like  me 
reduced  to  an  essence,  father?  Essence  of  Bessie 
Madison  ?" 

"  No,  no,  Bessie  !     I  like  you  just  as  you  are." 

"  I  like  you,  too,  just  as  you  are — with  the  prospect 
of  the  changes  you  will  be  sure  to  make  this  winter. 
For  you  will  have  to  go  out  with  me,  and  we  shall 
entertain  at  home ;  and  as  you  will  be  expected  to 
dance  and  take  ladies  in  to  supper  and  that  kind  of 
thing,  you  will  require  dress-suits.  How  handsome 
you  will  look  !  I  was  thinking  you  might  refurnish 
the  drawing-rooms  and  the  large  dining-room  and 
the  small  reception-room  and  a  guest-chamber  or 
two.  I  heard  yesterday  that  Doctor  Carter  has 
made  his  house  a  perfect  paradise." 

" '  Paradise  !'  " 

"  Not  a  Bible  one,  of  course ;  a  kind  of  Turkish 


io6  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

one,  represented  by  gorgeous  carpets  and  curtains 
and  cushions  and  all  kinds  of  luxuries.  I  have  to 
try  and  fancy  Ambrosia  in  the  midst  of  this 
splendor.  Madame  Savary  was  here  yesterday,  and 
she  says  Mr.  Will  Carter  stayed  in  New  York  all  sum- 
mer,  directing  a  small  army  of  Italian  decorators." 

"Pshaw  !  I  do  not  credit  more  than  a  hundredth 
part  of  such  stories.  Are  you  intending  to  rival  your 
cousin's  house  and  dress  ?" 

"'Rival/'  You  should  not  say  such  plain  words, 
father.  I  have  always  had  liner  rooms  and  finer 
clothes  than  Cousin  Amber,  and  it  is  not  in  the  na 
ture  of  an  American  girl  to  fall  behind,  even  in  car- 
pets  and  curtain  goods.  Now  is  it  ?  But '  rivalry '  is 
an  ugly  word  ;  and  commits  you  to  so  many  unpleas 
ant  things." 

"  Besides,  you  are  younger  than  Ambrosia." 

"  Which  thing  is  in  my  favor ;  every  day  is  a  gain 
in  New  York." 

"  And  then  you  are  only  an  unallied,  unattached 
person.  Amber  is  married  to  a  very  prominent — I 
may  say,  famous  man." 

"  And  I  may  marry  a  Presidential  candidate  ?  Who 
can  tell  ?  Or  perhaps  even  an  editor  on  one  of  the 
great  dailies  or  a  popular  preacher  or  a  famous  tenor 
or  a  prince  or  even  a  mayor  of  New  York !" 

"  Did  you  see  no  one  in  Europe  you  would  like  to 
marry  ?" 

"  No  one." 

"You  are  heart-free,  Bessie?" 

"  I  love  no  one  half  so  well  as  I  love  you,  father." 

"  Then,  Bessie,  I  will  tell  you  something  I  desire 
very  much.  If  you  feel  that  you  can  give  my  de 
sires  a  chance,  I  shall  be  very  much  pleased  with 


A    Visit  and  a  Quarrel.  107 

you.  But  I  would  not  coerce  you  in  the  matter  of 
marriage.  You  must  satisfy  your  own  heart  in  an 
affair  so  bound  up  with  joy  and  sorrow  as  marriage 
is.  I  want  you  to  go  to  Texas  this  winter." 

"  But  why  to  Texas?    Are  you  going  also?" 

"  I  wish  you  to  visit  your  uncle,  Colonel  Sam  Madi 
son,  and  your  cousins,  Lulu  and  James  and  Al- 
phonse." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  people.  And  think  of  all 
my  lovely  dresses !" 

"  You  can  take  all  the  '  lovely  dresses  '  with  you. 
You  will  need  them.  Your  uncle  lives  in  good  style, 
and  you  will  visit  both  in  Austin  and  San  Antonio." 

"  Father,  speak  to  me  plainly.  I  see  you  have 
some  object  in  view.  Are  you  going  to  send  me 
'  on  approval '  for  Cousins  James  and  Alphonse  to- 
look  at?" 

"  It  is  just  the  other  way.  You  know  that  I  am  a 
Texan  by  birth." 

"  I  never  even  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  ;  if  I  had 
I  should  have  laughed  at  the  dream  when  I  awoke." 

"  I  was  born  in  Texas.  My  father  was  born  there, 
and  my  grandfather  and  father  fought  with  General 
Houston  for  the  freedom  of  the  state.  In  reward 
for  their  services  they  received  a  noble  grant  of 
land ;  thousands  and  thousands  of  acres,  rolling 
back  from  the  Colorado  in  incomparable  pasturage 
and  woods  and  farm-land.  My  grandfather  built  a 
fine  mansion  on  one  of  the  highest  points — a  man 
sion  whose  central  hall  is  wide  enough  to  turn  a  car 
riage  in.  It  has  many  lofty  rooms  and  is  surrounded 
by  piazzas  raised  on  fluted  pillars  to  the  topmost 
story.  The  whole  house  is  covered  with  flowering 
vines,  and  it  is  really  an  ideal  home.  I  have  been 


io8  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

thirty  years  away  from  it,  Bessie,  but  I  can  yet  see 
its  large  rooms  and  feel  the  gulf-breeze  blowing 
through  them." 

"  Why  have  you  never  gone  back  to  this — home  ?" 

"Thirty  years  ago,  when  the  War  broke  out,  I 
was  in  the  North  at  college,  and  my  opinions  and 
desires  were  in  direct  opposition  to  my  father's. 
We  wrote  hard  words  to  each  other.  I  was  for 
bidden  to  ever  return  home,  and  I  was  young  and 
foolish  enough  to  accept  the  decree  of  banishment 
without  appeal.  Then  I  married,  and  became  so 
interested — so  bound  up — in  my  present  business, 
that  I  never  could  find  time  to  put  my  frequent 
resolves  to  ga  and  see  rny  parents  into  a  practical 
shape.  Mother  died  and  then  father  died,  and  I 
found  that  I  had  been  altogether  omitted  from  his 
will.  I  was  too  proud  and  too  busy  to  protest.  I 
permitted  my  younger  brother  Sam  to  take  posses 
sion  and  to  keep  possession.  It  is  eighteen  years 
since.  I  have  heard  nothing  from  the  old  home 
until  this  summer." 

"  And  when  I  was  away,  they  came  here,  I  sup 
pose?" 

"  No,  I  had  a  letter  from  my  brother.  He  says  the 
place  is  mortgaged  beyond  his  power  to  redeem. 
And  yet  the  mortgage  is  but  a  trifle  in  comparison 
with  the  value  of  the  estate.  He  asks  me  to  buy  the 
place  or  to  lend  him  the  money  to  pay  the  mortgage. 
He  told  me  about  his  life  and  his  family,  and  said 
some  words  about  his  brotherly  feeling  for  me  that 
made  me  feel  very  kindly." 

"  You  see  he  wanted  money.  He  never  thought 
'brotherly'  of  you  until  he  did." 

"  Never  mind  what  caused  the  feeling.   You  know 


A    Visit  and  a  Quarrel.  109 

the  Prodigal  never  thought  of  his  father  until  he  was 
hungry.  I  wrote  to  him  and  made  a  proposal,  which 
yesterday  he  gladly  accepted.  It  was,  however,  con 
ditional  upon  your  feelings." 

"  But  I  was  not  consulted.  What  have  I  to  do 
with  the  proposal,  father?" 

"  I  proposed  that  you  pay  them  a  visit,  and  that  if 
you  happened — mind,  it  is  entirely  in  your  own 
hands — that  if  you  happened  to  fall  in  love  with 
either  your  cousin  James  or  Alphonse,  and  marry 
him,  that  then  I  would  lift  the  mortgage — on  condi 
tion  that  the  house  and  one-half  of  the  estate  are 
settled  on  you  and  on  your  children.  You  see,  Bessie, 
I  have  been  perfectly  frank  with  you.  I  might  have 
made  up  some  plausible  excuse  and  taken  you  there, 
and  then  forbidden  you  to  fall  in  love  with  either  of 
your  cousins.  That  would  have  been  sufficient  to 
make  you  determine  to  marry  one  or  the  other,  and 
thus  you  would  have  unknowingly  carried  out  my 
desire.  But  I  thought  this  was  a  mean,  childish  way 
of  treating  you.  I  resolved  to  tell  you  the  truth,  and 
ask  you  to  carry  out  my  plan,  if  it  was  pleasant  to 
you." 

"  You  did  the  best  thing,  after  all,  father." 

"  Of  course.  And,  at  any  rate,  you  can  go  and  see 
how  things  really  are.  A  winter  in  the  South  will 
confirm  your  health,  and  you  will  gain  and  not  lose 
by  delaying  your  ctibut  into  New  York  society.  Will 
you  go  to  Texas,  then,  my  dear?" 

"  Are  you,  going,  father?" 

"  I  certainly  intended  to  go ;  and  then,  yesterday, 
my  manager  asked  me  for  a  two-  or  three-week  vaca 
tion.  Both  of  us  cannot  be  away  at  the  same  time. 
It  would  be  ruinous  to  the  business." 


no  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  And  your  manager's  desires  are  of  more  impor 
tance  than  your  own  or  even  mine?  If  I  were  a 
man,  I  should  '  hire  a  master '  and  make  myself  com 
fortable  as  a  servant !" 

"The  poor  fellow  has  never  asked  for  av  vacation 
before.  He  has  been  with  me  seven  years.  How 
would  you  have  liked  to  say  '  No '  to  his  first  re 
quest?" 

"  I  could  say  it  very  sweetly.  I  should  be  '  so 
sorry,'  and  tell  him  he  could  have  a  little  longer  at 
some  other  time." 

"  But  he  is  going  with  a  friend  or  something  par- 
ticular  like  that.  He  seemed  anxious,  and  I  could 
not  refuse  him." 

"  We  could  wait  until  he  comes  home.  If  you  were 
with  me,  I  think  I  should  like  to  go  to  Texas  very 
well." 

"  There  is  no  time  to  lose,  dear  Bessie." 

"  But  I  cannot  travel  alone." 

"No,  indeed  !  Mrs.  Gonzales  will  be  delighted  to 
have  your  company.  She  is  going  to  Galveston. 
Your  uncle  will  meet  you  there." 

"  O-h-h-h !" 

"  Will  you  go,  Bessie  ?" 

"  I  will  think  about  it,  father." 

"  And  tell  me  to-night?" 

"  Yes.  I  can  surely  make  up  my  mind  before 
seven  o'clock,  if  I  try  very  hard." 

"  Then  good  morning.  Would  you  like  to  go  to 
see  W to-night?  They  say  he  is  very  funny." 

"  No,  indeed.  I  saw  him  once.  I  cannot  imagine 
how  he  has  become  so  popular  with  New  Yorkers." 

"  His  nonsense  suits  their  nonsense.  That  is  the 
reason.  Good-bye,  dear  little  girl.  Do  just  what- 


A    Visit  and  a   Quarrel.  1 1 1 

ever  you  desire  in  the  matter.  Think  of  no  one  but 
yourself." 

She  nodded  a  few  times  rapidly  in  reply,  and  then 
sat  down  to  think.  But  circumstances  were  against 
her.  Some  trunks  came  from  the  custom-house,  and 
it  was  necessary  to  unpack  their  contents  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  before  this  was  finished  Ambrosia 
called.  She  apologized  for  the  unfashionable  hour, 
but  she  had  an  engagement  at  one  o'clock  of  great 
importance,  and  she  unconsciously  threw  into  her 
manner  just  that  air  of  superior  aims  and  occupa 
tions  which  Bessie  had  anticipated. 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  avoid  it.  Ambrosia 
had  no  longer  any  sympathy  with  Bessie's  prattle 
about  her  dresses  and  her  admirers,  the  novel  she 
was  reading,  her  little  squabbles  with  her  visiting 
teachers  or  her  European  experiences.  She  was 
sure  she  knew  about  everything  Bessie  had  to  say, 
and  she  rather  expected  to  be  reproached  for  will 
fully  missing  Bessie's  party  three  times  while  they 
were  both  in  Europe. 

So  she  assumed  a  very  busy  air,  and  she  asked  no 
questions  at  all.  She  had  lost  also  her  girlish  appe 
tite  for  creams  and  chocolates,  so  that  Bessie  could 
find  nothing  to  tempt  her  with.  She  was  altogether 
a  different  Ambrosia.  The  very  trigness  of  her 
dress  was  a  tacit  disapproval  of  Bessie's  flowing, 
lacy,  fringy,  ribbony  garment.  And  Ambrosia  praised 
it  with  such  faint  approval,  that  Bessie  had  no  heart 
to  exhibit  her  other  changes  of  raiment.  She  had  a 
sudden  conviction  that  Mrs.  Carter's  purchases  were 
both  richer  and  in  better  taste.  There  was  an  opera- 
cloak  in  her  trunk,  which  she  had  bought  specially 
for  Ambrosia,  and  she  did  not  even  offer  it  to  her. 


i  i  i  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

She  was,  indeed,  quite  abashed  by  her  cousin's  tone, 
and  her  assumption  of  being  so  overcrowded  with 
social  engagements. 

"  We  intend  to  give  six  grand  dinners  this  season, 
Bessie,"  she  said,  "  and  I  shall  have  a  ball,  or  per 
haps  two,  for  you  specially.  I  do  wish  Will  Carter 
to  know  you  so  much.  Will  is  lovely.  I  am  sure 
I  should  be  delighted  if  he  fell  in  love  with  you." 

"  Thanks  !"  answered  Bessie  with  a  laugh.  "  You 
said  positively  you  would  not  marry  until  I  got  back 
from  Europe.  Who  took  my  place  as  chief  bride- 
maid  ?  I  have  heard  nothing  of  the  ceremony.  Was 
it  at  St.  Azarius?" 

"  I  wanted  to  wait  for  you,  but  Doctor  Carter  was 
neither  to  coax  nor  to  reason  with.  He  hardly  gave 
me  time  to  get  a  wedding-dress.  As  for  bridemaids, 
I  really  had  none.  It  was  a  simple  country  wed 
ding.  After  all,  I  think  show  weddings  are  intensely 
vulgar.  The  doctor  says  they  are.  Nobody  really 
cares  about  a  wedding,  that  is,  no  one  outside  of  the 
bride's  or  bridegroom's  family." 

"  I  thought  you  knew  more  than  that,  Amber. 
Why,  a  person's  wedding  is  the  only  thing  that  is 
interesting  about  one.  We  may  be  born  and  chris 
tened  and  confirmed,  and  even  die,  and  the  world  is 
not  in  the  least  interested  with  our  proceedings. 
But  just  let  two  people  conclude  to  get  married,  and 
immediately  they  become  of  importance.  You  know 
what  kind  of  a  catechism  begins  between  every  one 
who  has  ever  heard  their  names.  Is  the  bride  pretty  ? 
How  does  she  do  her  hair?  Who  are  his  people? 
Is  he  very  fond  of  her?  What  in  the  world  can  she 
see  in  him  ?  What  in  the  world  can  he  see  in  her  ? 
I  think  every  marriage  is  a  kind  of  fresh  joy  and 


A    Visit  and  a  Quarrel.  113 

wonder.  Did  you  have  a  great  many  wedding  pres 
ents  ?" 

"  We  were  married  in  such  a  hurry,  Bessie,  no  one 
had  time  to  think  of  presents.  Will  Carter  gave  me 
a  set  of  Worcester  china  and  Doctor  Carter  some 
superb  diamonds ;  but,  after  all,  I  think  wedding, 
presents  are  dreadfully  out  of  taste.  They  remind 
you  of  a  Scotch  penny  wedding.  I  think  people 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  marry  in  peace." 

"  I  want  everybody  in  the  block  to  know  when  I 
am  going  to  be  married.  I  shall  enjoy  watching  the 
nursemaids  and  the  grocer's  and  butcher's  boys 
staring  at  the  house.  I  want  all  the  neighborhood 
to  be  waiting  and  gazing  as  I  leave  the  house.  I 
hope  there  will  be  a  great  crowd  round  the  gates  of 
Grace  Church.  And  I  intend  to  have  the  largest 
number  allowable  of  bridemaids.  They  get  so  much 
delight  out  of  a  wedding.  Even  after  it  is  over  they 
like  to  talk  about  the  affair,  and  tell  each  other  how 
the  bride  looked,  and  how  her  husband  adored  her, 
and  how  her  travelling  dress  fitted.  Indeed  I  am  in 
favor  of  show  weddings,  Amber." 

"  Well,  if  you  like  to  be  stared  at — all  right." 

"  Yes,  I  like  to  be  stared  at ;  and  even  read  about. 
I  think  every  real  woman  likes  to  read  about  a  wed 
ding.  We  all  feel  a  certain  joy  in  a  man — even  if 
we  do  not  know  him — who  repents  and  gets  married. 
So,  you  see,  I  do  not  approve  of  your  quiet  country 
marriage,  at  all.  And  you  are  so  good-natured,  I 
must  believe  that  it  was  the  doctor's  wish  and  not 
yours." 

"  It  is  no  use  discussing  what  is  past  and  over. 
But  I  must  say  after  I  had  seen  the  presents  at  a 
Scotch  penny  wedding,  I  was  comforted.  The  num- 


i  i  4  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

ber  of  tin  candlesticks  made  me  think  of  Lizzie 
Ward's  fifteen  silver  candelabra ;  and  the  lots  of 
pewter  and  wooden  spoons,  of  Elsie  Long's  sixteen 
dozen  silver  ones.  It  was  the  same  principle,  carried 
out  in  different  materials.  Did  it  rain  all  the  time 
you  were  in  Scotland  ?" 

"No.  It  was  beautiful  weather — changeable, 
rather." 

"  Changeable,  yes  ;  it  changes  from  one  unpleasant 
variety  to  another,  continually.  In  England,  now, 
the  weather  is  lovely." 

"  We  were  there  in  July.  They  raise  an  English 
summer  in  hot-houses — like  grapes.  It  is  a  fact." 

"  Bessie,  I  would  not  say  such  disagreeable  things  ; 
for,  after  all,  England  is  a  kind  of  relation  to  our 
native  land." 

"  One  cannot  help  grumbling  a  little  about  Eng 
lish  weather.  Climate  in  New  York  is  arranged  in 
such  a  satisfactory  manner.  I  declare,  all  seasons 
are  comfortable  here.  You  can  get  roses  any  day  in 
the  year.  It  is  only  florists  and  a  few  market- 
gardeners  who  have  to  struggle  against  the  course 
of  nature.  Society  is  all  right." 

"  The  first  ball  I  give  will  be  for  you,  Bessie,  dear. 
What  kind  of  floral  decorations  would  you  prefer?" 

"Thanks,  Amber,  dear.  You  are  tremendously 
kind  ;  but  I  am  going  to  Texas  to  spend  the  winter." 

"  To  Texas  !     Why  not  go  to  the  equator  ?" 

"  It  is  too  far  south." 

"  You  are  joking  !" 

"But  why?" 

"  But  why  Texas  ?" 

"  My  uncle,  Colonel  Sam  Madison,  wishes  me  to 
visit  him.  And  father  thinks  it  will  be  real  good  for 


A    Visit  and  a  Quarrel.  115 

me.  I  have  a  slight  cough,  and  father  worries  him 
self  about  it." 

"  I  never  heard  you  had  an  uncle  in  Texas.  You 
never  said  a  word  about  him  before. ' 

"  Nor  about  my  cousins,  Louisa,  James  and  Al- 
phonse  ?" 

"  Never  one  word." 

"  Still  I  am  going  to  visit  them.  Father  was  born 
in  Texas." 

"  You  amaze  me.  But,  then,  life  is  only  a  series 
of  surprises." 

"  And  that  is  just  what  makes  it  worth  the  living." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  to  have  to  miss  you  this  winter, 
Bessie.  I  have  thought  of  you  so  often  as  the  very 
sweetest  flower  in  my  drawing-rooms." 

"  Dear  Amber,  you  are  very  kind.  But,  honestly, 
I  am  going  to  Texas." 

"  Well,  Bessie,  we  must  have  a  good  old-time  talk 
before  you  leave.  Let  me  know  when  you  are  at 
liberty.  I  must  go  now.  I  have  barely  time  to  keep 
an  engagement  at  one.  It  is  with  Brother  Tom.  I 
think,  Bessie,  you  could  have  made  a  real  good  man 
of  poor  Tom ;  but  you  never  would  give  him  the 
least  encouragement,  Poor  Tom  !" 

"  Is  he  bad  now  ?  I  mean,  is  he  not  as  good  as  he 
is  bonnie,  to  ask  a  question  Scotch  fashion  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  Bessie.  If  you  only  would  have 
been  a  guide — a  hope — a — 

"  I  could  not,  Amber.  I  really  could  not.  Where 
you  fail,  with  all  your  tact  and  influence,  I  should  be 
sure  to  blunder.  You  ought  to  try  with  Tom  Mrs. 
Oliphant's  plan  with  her  bad  heroes." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  She  just  takes  them  to  Scotland  and  makes  them. 


u6  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

by  the  merest  accident,  drop  into  a  Free  Kirk. 
They  go  home,  I  assure  you,  all  of  them,  clothed  and 
in  their  right  mind." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  about  anything  this  morning, 
Bessie  ?  I  really  do  not  credit  a  word  of  this  Texas 
scheme." 

" '  Scheme  !'    Oh,  well,  you  will  see." 

"  Good-bye.     Come  and  see  me  soon." 

"  Good-bye.     I  am  going  to  Texas." 

They  parted  with  a  laugh,  but  both  girls  were  at 
high  tension,  and  they  hardly  knew  why  or  where 
fore.  The  fact  was,  Ambrosia  had  called  upon  her 
cousin  brimful  of  the  intention  to  make  Bessie  un 
derstand  that  relationships  between  them  had  under 
gone  some  changes.  She  had  gone,  intending  to  be 
the  married  dame,  the  idolized  wife,  the  leader  of 
her  social  set.  And  Bessie,  anticipating  this  inten 
tion,  was  on  the  defensive  during  the  visit  from  first 
to  last.  So  that  the  very  atmosphere  between  them 
had  been  fully  charged  with  polite  antagonism ;  so 
much  so  that  Bessie  gave  way  to  her  anger  as  soon 
as  Ambrosia's  carriage  was  out  of  sight. 

"  Whether  Amber  knew  it  or  not,  she  was  imper 
tinent,"  she  reflected.  "  I  felt  it.  And,  to  spite  her, 
I  said  I  was  going  to  Texas.  I  shall  have  to  keep 
my  word  now.  For  Amber  will  go  about  to  tell  it, 
here,  there  and  everywhere.  I  do  not  care  much. 
It  will  please  father ;  and  I  think  it  will  be  nicer  to 
please  him  than  to  be  '  the  sweetest  flower  in  Mrs. 
Dr.  Carter's  drawing-rooms.'  What  insufferable  airs 
and  graces  she  did  put  on  !  I  do  hope,  when  I  get 
married,  I  may  have  sense  enough  to  behave  de 
cently.  Well,  I  am  going  to  Texas.  That  is  settled. 
When  I  come  back,  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see.'' 


A    Visit  and  a   Quarrel.  1 1  7 

Ambrosia's  reflections  were  in  no  pleasanter  strain. 

"  Bessie  is  quite  changed,"  she  thought.  "  If  Bes 
sie  cannot  patronize,  she  is  simply  hateful.  Thank 
goodness,  I  am  now  out  of  the  horizon  of  her  conde 
scensions  !  I  think  she  felt  it.  I  think  I  made  her 
realize  that  Mrs.  Dr.  Carter  was  not  a  person- 
Then  the  carriage  stopped.  She  was  at  Maillard's, 
and  Tom  was  loitering  about  the  door,  waiting  for 
her.  It  had  the  air  of  an  assignation,  and  it  annoyed 
her.  She  did  not  speak  until  they  had  seated  them 
selves  and  Tom  had  given  the  order  for  their  lunch. 
Then  she  turned  to  him  with  as  much  temper  as  the 
surroundings  permitted  : 

"  Tom,  I  think  it  is  real  unkind  of  you  to  send  for 
me  here  !" 

"  That  prig,  Doctor  Carter—" 

"  Stop  !  I  will  not  listen  a  moment  to  you  if  you. 
dare  to  take  that  tone  !  I  came  to  see  you  about 
father  and  Clara.  Why  do  you  not  attend  better  to 
their  wants?  What  has  become  of  father's  busi 
ness?" 

"  It  has  gone  to  the  dogs." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  'dogs?'     Yourself  ?" 

"  I  mean  there  was  no  business." 

"That  is  nonsense.  Father  made  a  fine  living  out 
of  it  for  many  years." 

"  It  was  played  out  when  he  was,  and— 

"  It  is  a  shame  to  speak  of  father  in  such  a  way  !" 

"  I  can  tell  you,  I  have  had  to  make  great  sacrifices 
to  pay  father's  debts  and  keep  his  good  name." 

"  You  are  not  speaking  the  truth,  Tom,  and  you 
know  it !" 

"  I  say  that  I  have  spent  all  I  had,  and  am  now  in 
great  straits  myself.  I  think  it  is  your  duty  to  help 


1 1 8  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

me.     I  tried  to  keep  all  right,  mostly  for  your  sake. 
I  want  a  thousand  dollars  now  in  the  worst  way." 

"  If  I  had  a  million  dollars  I  would  not  give  you 
one  cent  until  you  did  your  duty  to  father.  Even  if 
you  had  no  money  to  pay  him,  you  ought  to  have 
visited  him  and  explained  things  to  him.1' 

"  I  might  as  well  have  explained  things  to  a  new- 
"born  baby." 

"  Come,  sir,  your  own  race  is  not  run  yet.  Father 
was  a  finer  man  than  you  are,  one  year  ago  !" 

"Are  you  going  to  lend  me  some  money,  sis?" 

"  Not  a  cent !" 

"  What  did  you  come  here  for,  then  ?" 

"To  tell  you  so." 

"Then  I  shall  write  to  your  husband  for  it.  It  is 
not  fair ;  I  have  everything  to  do.  He  ought,  for 
your  sake,  to  assist  me  in  clearing  up  father's  busi 
ness  and  honor." 

"  My  husband  will  not  give  you  a  cent,  if  I  can 
prevent  it !  For  father's  honor  needs  no  clearing 
up.  His  name  has  no  discredit  but  the  fact  that  you 
bear  it.  Poor  father,  so  good  as  he  always  was  to 
you,  Tom  !  From  the  day  you  were  eight  years  old 
and  begged  a  pony  from  him,  I  never  knew  him  to 
deny  you  any  reasonable  request.  He  is  dying. 
You  give  him  nothing  from  all  his  brain  has  earned  ; 
you  never  go  to  see  him  !" 

"  That  woman  will  not  let  me  see  him.  She  has 
her  reasons,  of  course." 

"  Mrs.  Shepherd  has  never  an  ill  reason  for  any 
thing  she  does.  And  do  not  call  her  '  that  woman ' 
to  me  again,  if  you  please." 

"  Amber,  there  is  no  use  in  our  quarreling.  Eat 
your  lunch.  What  can  you  do  to  help  me?" 


A    Visit  and  a   Quarrel.  119 

"  Nothing.  Absolutely  nothing.  I  have  no  money. 
Mrs.  Shepherd  sold  her  diamonds  to  pay  my  wed 
ding  expenses." 

"  Is  not  your  husband's  money  your  money  also?" 

"  Not  to  give  away  without  his  permission." 

"  You  are  a  bond-slave,  then.  I  would  not  be  any 
man's  wife  without  a  dollar  to  spend  as  I  liked." 

"  I  may  not  like  to  give  you  money.  In  fact,  I  do 
not  like  to  give  it  to  you  until  you  drop  all  such  ac 
quaintances  as  you  now  spend  father's  and  your  own 
money  on.  And  I  have  come  here  to  tell  you  I  will 
not  speak  to  you  again  unless  you  begin  at  once  to 
do  right  to  father." 

"  Come,  Amber,  dear  girl,  do  not  get  into  a  pas 
sion.  That  does  no  good.  Lend  me  fifty  dollars." 

"  I  have  not  fifty  dollars  to  lend." 

"  Bring  it  to  me  to-morrow — here,  at  one  o'clock." 

"  I  will  never  meet  you  here  or  anywhere  else 
clandestinely  again.  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for 
being  here  to-day.  As  to  lending  you  fifty  dollars, 
it  is  out  of  all  consideration.  Surely,  if  Doctor  Car 
ter  helps  my  dear  father,  it  is  enough.  I  will  not 
take  a  cent  of  his  money  for  your  extravagances. 
Now  that  is  the  plain  truth,  Tom.  I  am  going  home 
now.  And  do  not  write  to  me.  I  will  not  run  the 
risk  of  angering  my  husband  and  making  misery  for 
us  both.  You  ought  not  to  be  so  selfish  as  to  de 
sire  it." 

"  Of  course  not.  Your  own  brother  is  nobody  now. 
And  how  you  used  to  pretend  to  love  him  !" 

"  I  did  love  you  while  you  behaved  yourself — 
while  you  were  kind  and  respectful  to  father.  When 
you  give  up  your  bad  companions  and  do  your  best 
to  make  father's  last  days  easy,  I  will  love  you  again. 


1 20  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Then  both  I  and  Doctor  Carter  will  be  glad  to  see 
you  at  our  house.  Thanks ;  I  want  nothing  more, 
I  am  going  home." 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  to  a  brother  so  hard 
up  he  does  not  know  which  way  to  turn  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  that  you  bought  diamonds  for '  that 
woman '  you  were  at  the  opera  with.  Ask  her  to  sell 
them  for  you,  as  Mrs.  Shepherd  sold  hers  for  me  and 
for  your  father." 

"  You  are  a  heartless  creature,  Amber  !  I  always 
knew  you  were." 

"  Why  did  you  send  for  me,  then  ?"  and  with  the 
inquiry  she  rose  from  the  half-finished  lunch  and 
went  to  her  carriage. 

Tom  followed.  She  said  "  good-bye  "  as  he  closed 
the  door,  but  Tom  lifted  his  hat  without  a  word ; 
and  with  a  face  black  with  anger  and  disappoint 
ment,  walked  rapidly  up  Broadway. 

And  neither  of  them  saw  Doctor  Carter  standing 
at  the  entrance  to  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel.  He  was 
talking  with  two  gentlemen,  and  as  he  listened  to 
their  conversation  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his  wife 
and  the  young  man  who  left  her  so  full  of  evident 
disappointment. 

"  It  is  well  I  know  who  the  handsome  scamp  is," 
he  thought,  "  or  I  should  have  a  heart-burning — and 
Amber  had  evidently  not  pleased  him.  I  wonder  if 
she  will  tell  me ;  I  wonder,  if  I  asked  her,  if  she 
would  deny  meeting  him." 

He  speculated  on  this  question  all  afternoon,  not 
reflecting  that  it  is  often  a  great  wrong  and  cruelty 
to  tempt  a  loving  woman  to  betray  what  love  would 
hide  for  love's  own  sake. 

There  was  no  trace  of  the  day's  annoyances  on 


A    Visit  and  a   Quarrel.  121 

Amber's  countenance  when  he  returned  home  for 
dinner.  She  was  smiling  and  charming,  and  chat 
ting  merrily  with  "  Brother  Will."  She  was  hurt  at 
Bessie,  and  she  could  not  define  her  hurt,  so  it  gave 
her  satisfaction  to  recur  again  and  again  to  the 
subject. 

"  She  was  so  queer,  Robert ;  you  cannot  tell  how 
singularly  unlike  herself  she  was.  $he  says,  too, 
that  she  is  going  to  Texas,  which  I  only  half  credit. 
She  opposed  everything  I  said  about  the  places  we 
had  both  been  to  this  summer ;  yes,  you  may  know 
how  contradictious  she  was  when  she  declared  that 
the  Scotch  climate  was  delightful,  and  that  it  did 
not  rain  there." 

"  Her  experiences  in  Scotland  seem  to  have  been 
unique.  Had  she  any  other  like  them  ?" 

"She  said  the  Scotch  were  the  most  religious 
people  in  the  world.  You  would  have  thought  she 
had  never  seen  any  religion  in  America." 

"  Well,"  answered  the  doctor,  "  no  other  people  in 
the  world  have  made  such  a  noise  about  their  re 
ligion  as  the  Scotch." 

"  And  then  their  industry  !" 

Will  laughed  heartily. 

"  In  Scotland  they  have  to  be  industrious,"  he  said. 
"  There  it  is  work  hard  or  die.  But  will  you  kindly 
observe  the  canny  Scot  when  he  has  emigrated  him 
self  to  the  wealthy  State  of  New  York.  I  happen  to 
know  several.  They  are  all  of  them  pottering  about 
gentlemen's  gardens,  tying  up  flowers,  snipping  off 
dead  leaves  and  tap,  tap,  tapping  on  a  sunny  wall 
with  a  half-ounce  hammer.  The  Scot  may  be  indus 
trious  in  Scotland,  but  when  he  goes  from  his  native 
land  it  is  not  to  work — if  you  please." 


122  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

But  it  was  neither  in  the  power  of  Ambrosia  or 
Will  to  quite  dispel  that  "  something- "  in  the  at 
mosphere  which  chilled  all  their  efforts,  and  after 
awhile  they  seemed  to  weary  of  them.  Will  had 
become  exceedingly  sensitive  to  any  influence  which 
made  him  in  the  way  of  marital  confidence.  He  said 
he  "  had  to  go  to  a  meeting  ;"  and  Ambrosia's  rather 
forced  chaffing  about  the  affair  did  not  bring  the 
diverse  elements  any  closer  together. 

"  You  show  such  an  ample  stretch  of  starched  linen 
to-night,  Will.  Are  you  going  to  speak?"  she  asked. 

"  Perhaps  I  may,  Amber.  A  Christian  young  man 
has  so  many  duties  now,  if  he  only  looks  for  them." 

"  Yes ;  and  when  their  associations  wear  such 
lovely  linen  and  beautiful  patent-leather  slippers, 
who  would  not  be  a  Christian  young  man  ?  Religion , 
certainly  in  this  day,  was  never  designed  to  make 
them  less — fashionable." 

"  Or  less  conscientious  or  less  kindly  or  less 
thoughtful  for  others,  dear  Amber.  I  hope,  Robert, 
you  will  be  in  a  brighter  mood  when  I  get  back." 

Robert  only  answered  with  a  slight  smile,  but 
when  Will  had  closed  the  door,  he  began  to  walk 
nervously  about  the  room.  Ambrosia  knew,  in  some 
measure,  what  was  troubling  him — that  is,  she  knew 
he  was  annoyed  about  Tom  Shepherd,  and  that  he 
probably  suspected  she  had  heard  from  him. 

"  I  will  tell  Robert  the  truth,  if  he  asks  me  any 
questions,"  she  said  to  herself  ;  "  for  though  truth 
may  be  blamed,  it  never  can  be  shamed." 

So  she  sat  quite  silent,  apparently  absorbed  in  the 
new  novel  she  was  reading.  There  might  be  five 
minutes  of  this  silent  reading  and  silent  walking, 
and  then  Robert  paused  before  his  wife  and  said : 


A    Visit  and  a  Quarrel.  123 

"  Ambrosia,  my  dear,  did  you  have  a  letter  from 
your  brother  this  morning?" 

"  Yes,  Robert." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  Nothing  in  particular.  He  was  annoyed  at  your 
action  last  night.  That  was  natural.  I  was  annoyed 
myself." 

"  I  have  explained  to  you,  my  dear.  I  am  sorry  if 
I  did  not  make  my  conduct  satisfactory." 

No  answer. 

"  Were  you  not  satisfied  ?" 

"  There  is  no  use  in  discussing  that  matter ;  let  it 
pass." 

"  I  cannot  let  anything  pass  that  annoys  you. 
Have  you  answered  your  brother's  letter  yet?" 

She  colored  vividly,  and  said,  with  an  air  of  great 
worry  : 

"  Cannot  you  let  the  subject  alone,  Robert  ?" 

"  Not  until  we  come  to  some  conclusion.  I  am  un 
happy  about  it." 

"  I  have  made  no  complaint." 

"  But  you  made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  been  unkind  to 
you.  I  do  not  like  you  to  feel  anything  so  untrue 
and  so  unjust." 

"  Very  well ;  I  will  forget  all  about  the  circum 
stance.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  one  to  remember." 

"  Yes — but — I  do  not  want  you  to  be  troubled  with 
his  letters.  Whether  you  answer  them  or  not,  they 
must  annoy  you — and  he  might — he  might  want  you 
to  meet  him  somewhere — he  is  quite  capable  of  such 
an  imprudence." 

"  Robert,  I  promise  you  that  if  Tom  ever  writes 
and  asks  me  to  meet  him  anywhere,  I  will  give  the 
letter  to  you  to  answer." 


124  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Now,  if  Robert  Carter  had  been  a  sensible  man 
about  women  he  would  have  been  satisfied  with 
this  assurance.  It  was  all  he  ought  to  have 
desired.  But  he  had  little  married  experi 
ence,  and  he  had  a  craving  to  see  whether 
Amber — whether  his  wife — would  tell  a  lie  to 
him  about  her  movements.  It  was  a  form  of 
jealousy  which  could  not  be  laid  by  any  exorcism 
less  than  the  proof  it  demanded  ;  and  so,  instead  of 
accepting  Amber's  promised  confidence,  he  sat  down 
in  front  of  her,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  her  book, 
he  said : 

"  Amber,  dear,  I  would  like  you  to  tell  me  just 
what  Tom  said  to  you  in  his  letter." 

She  rose  proudly,  and  without  a  word  went  for 
Tom's  letter  and  gave  it  to  him.  He  grew  crimson 
with  passion  as  he  read,  and  with  some  difficulty 
spoke  with  any  show  of  calmness. 

"  This  letter  is  a  vulgar  piece  of  impertinence.  Of 
course  you  did  not  go  to  Maillard's !  The  idea  of 
your  own  brother  asking  you  to  commit  such  an  in 
discretion  as  to  keep  an  appointment  unknown  to 
your  husband  !  The  man  must  be  a  moral  imbecile  ! 
How  did  you  answer  his  request  ?  I  hope  you  did 
not  answer  it  at  all." 

"  Yes,  I  answered  it.     Of  course  I  answered  it." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?" 

"  I  did  not  write  at  all." 

"  Did  you  go  to  Maillard's?" 

"Yes.  I  went  there,  as  he  wished,  at  one 
o'clock." 

He  had  feared  her  answer  so  that  his  heart  stood 
still.  At  the  bravery  of  the  truth  it  throbbed  wildly 
with  the  relief  and  satisfaction.  He  felt  that  he 


A    Visit  and  a  Quarrel.  125 

could  forgive  all  the  imprudence  for  the  honesty  of 
her  confession.  Yet,  as  often  happens,  he  said 
perhaps  the  most  imprudent  and  irritating  of 
words. 

"  I  am  astonished  at  you  !  And  you  must  promise 
me  never  to  do  such  a  thing  again." 

"  I  have  already  promised  myself.  That  is  all  that 
is  necessary." 

"  I  am  satisfied  with  the  promise  to  yourself ; 
still,  I  think  you  might  also  make  it  to  your 
husband." 

"  I  do  not  understand  why  you  trouble  yourself 
with  the  matter  at  all.  I  shall  do  what  is  right,  and 
you  may  just  as  well  begin  to  rely  on  me  now 
as  later." 

"  I  confess  that  I  am  more  ready  to  do  so 
now  than  ever  before.  Amber,  my  dear,  I  will 
tell  you  something :  I  saw  you  at  Maillard's, 
and  I  was  sick  with  anxiety  lest  you  should 
deny  it  to  me  !  Thank  God,  you  rose  to  my  high 
est  hopes !" 

As  he  spoke  she  grew  white  and  then  crimson 
with  anger. 

"  You  watched  me  !"  she  cried.  "  You  did  such  a 
shameful  thing  as  to  watch  your  wife !  And  then 
you  feared  I  would  lie  to  you  !  How  dare  you  con 
fess  that  you  offered  me  such  an  indignity  ?  I  will 
never  forgive  you  !  Never  !  Never  !" 

"  But,  Amber,  dear  Amber,  I  did  not —  You  do 
not  understand.  It  was  an  accident.  I  declare  to 
you— " 

"  I  wish  no  apologies — no  excuses.  The  fact  is 
sufficient.  If  you  saw  me,  you  ought  to  have  come 
to  me.  You  ought  to  have  spoken  both  to  me  and 


126  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

to  Tom.  You  were  coward  enough  to  watch  me  by 
stealth !"  And  refusing  to  listen  to  anything  her 
husband  would  say,  she  went  out  of  the  room  in  a 
flame  of  passion. 

Ten  minutes  later,  as  she  stood  in  her  chamber 
wringing  her  hands  and  trying  to  persuade  herself 
she  had  done  quite  right,  she  heard  the  doctor  go 
heavily  down  the  stairs  and  clash  the  street-door 
after  him.  And  a  great  weight  fell  upon  her  heart. 
She  could  not  comfort  herself,  and  there  was  none 
else  to  comfort  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  ENTER   MR.   JACK   MADISON !" 

"  Thus  saith  my  Chloris  bright 
When  we  of  Love  sit  down  and  talk  together  : 
*  Beware  of  love,  dear.     Love  is  a  walking  sprite; 

And  Love  is  this  and  that, 

And,  oh,  I  know  not  what, 
And  comes  and  goes  again,  I  wot  not  whither.'  " 

So  Bessie  went  to  Texas.  With  the  supersensi- 
tiveness  of  youth,  she  regarded  her  assertions  to 
Ambrosia  on  the  subject  as  binding  on  her.  She 
was  sure  the  "  everybody  "  of  her  world  would  hear 
of  the  intention,  and  she  felt  equally  sure  she  would 
be  called  upon  to  explain  the  reasons  for  breaking  it. 

"  And  I  would  rather  go  than  to  have  to  answer 
questions  and  listen  continually  to  assurances  that 
they  are  so  glad  I  did  not  go,"  she  thought. 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  conclusion  of  Texas  was 
fairly  accepted,  she  began  to  find  many  sources  of 
comfort  in  it.  People  would  talk  about  her ;  they 
would  see  that  she  was  in  no  hurry  to  claim  what 
advantages  society  had  to  offer.  A  doubt  as  to  the 
costumes  she  had  bought  for  the  winter's  festivities 
had  invaded  her  heart  since  Ambrosia's  visit ;  but 

[127] 


128  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

in  Texas  they  would  be  overwhelming.  And  the 
opera-cloak  originally  intended  for  Cousin  Amber 
•could  go  to  Cousin  Louisa.  It  would  be  an  entirely 
new  life,  and  she  wanted  so  much  to  be  a  fine  eques 
trienne.  Could  she  have  any  better  riding-school 
than  Texas  ?  And  her  cousins,  James  and  Alphonse, 
would  be  her  teachers.  Also,  it  was  a  little  pleasure 
to  reflect  that  Mrs.  Dr.  Carter  would  have  no  oppor 
tunity  of  patronizing  her  from  the  platform  of  her 
married  superiority.  And  Bessie  could  not  avoid  a 
smile  of  gratification  as  she  made  this  reflection  : 

"For  I  hate  to  be  patronized,"  she  said  softly, 
"  and  more  especially  by  Amber.  No,  indeed  !  I 
prefer  going  to  Texas.  And  Mr.  Will  Carter  thrown 
at  me  as  a  bribe  !  Too  small,  far  too  small !  I  think 
one  of  the  Texan  cousins  would  be  better." 

So  the  packing  and  preparation  for  Texas  was  ac 
complished  under  very  fair  hopes.  And  the  glory 
of  youth  is  that  it  can  make  its  own  hopes.  As  the 
project  became  more  certain,  it  became  more  enjoy 
able  ;  so  that  she  finally  went  away  radiant  with  the 
prospect  of  the  fresh  experiences  before  her.  And 
though  she  was  not  yet  "  in  society,"  there  was  quite 
a  gay  party  at  the  steamer  to  send  her  off  with  smiles 
and  fluttering  kerchiefs  and  outspoken  good  wishes. 
And,  above  all,  her  father  absolutely  left "  the  works  " 
in  the  middle  of  the  day  to  be  one  of  the  party  ;  a 
thing  unprecedented,  because  the  manager  was  also 
away  ;  and  a  proof  beyond  all  others  he  could  have 
given  her  of  his  pleasure  in  her  cheerful  obedience 
to  his  wishes. 

To  be  sure,  it  was  gray,  cold  weather,  and  the  sun 
shine  was  all  to  make.  But,  after  all,  is  there  any 
sunshine  like  that  manufactured  by  happy  hearts  ? 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison"  129 

The  captain  took  the  pretty  maiden  under  his  spe 
cial  protection  ;  and  she  had  Mrs.  Gonzales  for  com 
pany  and  a  delightful  vis-h-vis  at  the  table  in  the 
person  of  Mr.  John  Newton.  At  first  she  thought 
he  would  not  be  agreeable  ;  but  before  the  evening 
was  over  he  had  done  a  hundred  pleasant,  kindly 
things,  and  Mrs.  Gonzales  was  sure,  from  his  man 
ner,  that  he  was  a  person  of  the  highest  distinction. 

The  next  two  days  were  exceedingly  wet  and 
blowy ;  and  Mr.  Newton  and  Bessie  had  the  cabin, 
and  especially  the  deck,  almost  to  themselves.  It 
must  be  admitted  that  neither  seemed  to  be  aware 
of  the  circumstance.  They  sat  for  hours  in  a  cozy 
corner,  Bessie  propped  with  stiff  leather  cushions, 
and  Mr.  Newton  on  the  other  side  of  the  bulwark, 
talking  about  Bessie's  summer  experiences.  Mr. 
Newton  had  never  been  out  of  America.  He  asked 
Bessie  all  sorts  of  questions  about  railways  and  ho 
tels  and  shopping  and  mountain-climbing  and  mu 
sical  matters  and  picture-galleries,  and  so  got  the 
little  maid  to  reveal  her  whole  innocent  heart  under 
the  pretense  of  getting  information. 

Undoubtedly  all  people  like  to  give  advice,  even 
very  young  girls,  and  to  Bessie  it  was  a  new  and 
charming  experience.  Her  pretty  airs  of  superior 
knowledge,  her  wisdom  about  curios  and  couriers 
and  cab-drivers  and  Swiss  landlords,  were  a  delightful 
thing  to  John  Newton.  He  never  wearied  of  being 
taught  by  her.  And  when  the  rain  moderated,  he 
took  fresh  lessons  in  European  tactics  on  deck ;  for 
though  he  was  ignorant  on  that  special  subject,  he 
was  very  skillful  in  helping  a  young  lady  into  her 
wraps  and  taking  her  safely  up  a  sloping  companion- 
way  and  supporting  her  on  a  reeling  quarter-deck. 


T  30  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Then  came  the  deliciously  warm  nights  of  the 
southern  latitudes — the  mellow  moonlight,  the  phos 
phorescent  seas,  the  dreamy  Florida  Keys,  the 
magic  skies  and  airs  of  the  Mexican  Gulf.  Day  by 
day  the  little  girl  fell  more  deeply  in  love,  and  knew 
it  not,  for  it  was  honestly  her  first  experience  of  the 
kind.  Never  before  had  she  been  the  first  and  the 
last  and  the  only  thought  of  any  man  ;  and  this  man 
was  so  handsome,  so  noble-looking,  so  intelligent,  so 
good-hearted  and  good-natured  and,  as  a  final  excel 
lence,  so  well  dressed,  so  properly  dressed  for  all 
occasions. 

Indeed,  life  had  become  a  most  wonderful  joy  to 
Bessie  long  before  they  reached  the  Texan  coast — a 
joy  she  did  not  try  to  analyze  but  just  took  as  it 
was  given,  shining  and  glorious,  from  Love's  rosy 
hands.  It  was  enough  to  come  out  of  her  stateroom 
in  the  morning  and  find  John  watching  for  her ; 
enough  to  eat  with  him  and  read  and  talk  with  him 
and  feel  his  loving  thought  and  care  encompass  her 
round  about  continually.  Enough  for  the  days  were 
the  blessedness  thereof.  She  did  not  inquire  of  the 
future  at  all. 

Not  until  they  lay  off  Galveston  Bar,  and  the  soft 
night-wind  brought  to  them  the  scent  of  the  myrtles 
and  oleanders,  and  they  could  see  the  fair,  white 
city  lying  asleep  in  its  rose-gardens — then,  as  they 
stood  hand  in  hand,  silent  and  sensitive,  the  query 
came  to  both  hearts  and  would  no  longer  be  put 
aside. 

"  We  must  part  to-morrow !  Shall  we  ever  meet 
again  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so ;  I  do,  indeed.  I  should  be  very 
miserable  if  I  thought  differently." 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison"  131 

With  such  an  opening,  John  did  not  find  it  hard 
to  speak  the  words  he  wished  to  say ;  and  Bessie 
found  it  a  very  happy  thing  to  listen  to  them.  Ten 
minutes  sufficed  to  bring  love's  sweet  catechism  to  a 
clear  question  and  answer. 

"  If  I  can  satisfy  your  father — and  I  am  sure  I  can 
— then,  Bessie,  you  will  faithfully  keep  your  promise 
and  be  my  wife  ?"  said  John. 

And  Bessie  answered : 

"  I  will  faithfully  be  your  wife." 

"  And  suppose  I  take  a  little  trip  into  Mexico  while 
you  are  in  the  interior  ?  I  will  certainly  be  in  Gal- 
veston  in  March,  and  we  will  sail  back  to  New  York 
together.  Would  you  like  that  ?" 

"  I  would  like  it  very  much.  But,  of  course,  I  do 
not  know  the  exact  date,  nor  yet  the  name  of  the 
steamer." 

"  Never  mind.  I  shall  find  those  things  out.  You 
will  see  that  I  shall  not  miss  you.  Are  you  deter 
mined  not  to  write  to  me  ?  Just  a  line  or  two  every 
month  would  make  me  happy." 

"  I  would  rather  not  write.  My  uncle  would  won 
der.  He  might  think  it  proper  to  name  the  corre 
spondence  to  father.  That  would  put  us  at  a  disad 
vantage.  I  wish  you  to  be  the  first  to  speak  of  our 
love  for  each  other.  I  dare  say  you  will  see  some 
Mexican  beauty  before  I  go  back  north,  and  so  for 
get  all  about  your  tryst  with  me.  If  I  am  disap 
pointed  I  do  not  want  any  one  but  myself  to  know  I 
have  made  a  mistake." 

There  was  but  one  answer  to  this  supposition,  and 
John  made  it  with  loving  eloquence.  It  took  along 
time  to  make  it ;  it  was  midnight  when  they  parted  ; 
and  before  sunrise  a  small  steam  tug  from  the  city 


132  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

arrived  at  the  bar,  bringing  on  it  Colonel  Sam  Madi 
son  and  his  son  Alphonse.  Then  Bessie  and  Mrs. 
Gonzales  were  called,  and  in  an  hour  they  were 
swinging  round  on  the  little  tug  for  the  city.  Bessie 
was  not  averse  to  this  early  move,  for  their  steamer 
was  likely  to  be  delayed  some  hours  at  the  bar ;  but 
she  was  seriously  annoyed  at  Mr.  Newton's  non- 
appearance. 

True,  at  the  last  moment,  she  saw  a  hand  wave  a 
white  kerchief  to  her ;  but  she  had  expected  some 
thing  more  than  this  mere  courtesy.  It  was  not 
flattering  to  think  of  John  sleeping  so  late  and  so 
soundly  while  she  was  leaving  him  perhaps  forever. 
And  though  the  coming  of  her  uncle  had  been  totally 
unexpected,  and  though  John  had  not  been  informed 
of  it,  "  yet,  for  all  that  and  every  other  thing,  John 
ought  to  have  felt  I  was  going  away,  and  been  on 
deck  to  bid  me  good-bye,"  Bessie  sadly  reflected. 

This  accident  of  a  late  sleep  was  much  against  Mr. 
Newton.  Bessie  was  offended,  and  in  her  angry 
mood  she  told  herself,  and  with  some  likelihood 
that,  "  after  all,  it  was  only  a  '  ship  flirtation.'  '  She 
had  heard  the  girls  on  the  great  Atlantic  liners  talk 
of  such  affairs— how  far  they  had  gone,  and  how 
little  every  word  and  promise  meant,  and  she  con 
cluded  that  she  had  been  "  a  passing  amusement  " 
for  an  old,  experienced  traveller. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  admission,  and  she  put  it 
aside  as  much  as  possible,  and  gave  all  her  attention 
to  her  new  relatives.  They  were  very  interesting 
men,  and  they  were  quite  unlike  New  Yorkers. 
The  colonel  was  an  older-looking  man  than  her 
father — tall,  sallow,  silent,  with  fierce  mtistachios 
and  a  big  soft  hat.  Alphonse  was  a  juvenile  picture 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison."  133 

of  him.  They  encouraged  Bessie  to  do  all  the  talk- 
ing,  and  sat  looking  at  her  with  evident  and  pleased 
astonishment.  And  yet,  though  Alphonse  was 
undoubtedly  a  very  fine-looking  youth,  Bessie  did 
not  think  it  at  all  likely  she  would  fall  in  love  with 
him. 

"  Neither  will  he  fall  in  love  with  me,"  she 
decided.  "  He  was  not  so  impressed  on  sight,  I  am 
sure ;  and  though  I  interest  and  please  him,  I  am 
not  his  ideal  woman  ;  nor  is  he  my  ideal  man." 

At  Austin  the  colonel's  buggy  was  waiting,  and 
Alphonse,  on  a  very  fine  horse,  rode  by  their  side. 
On  horseback,  in  top-boots  and  bell  spurs,  big  Mex 
ican  stirrups  and  gauntlets,  Alphonse  looked  a 
splendid  type  of  manhood,  and  Bessie  had  at  least  a 
sentiment  of  pride  in  so  handsome  a  cousin.  It 
seemed  really  as  if  the  horse's  mettle  and  courage 
passed  into  the  rider.  Alphonse  looked  gallant, 
capable,  possible,  and  Bessie  wished  the  riders  in 
Central  Park  could  only  have  a  vision  of  this  Cen 
taur  on  a  Texas  prairie.  She  turned  to  her  uncle 
and  said : 

"  Cousin  Alphonse  looks  so  much  better  on  horse 
back.  He  is  a  different  man." 

The  colonel  was  pleased  at  the  frank  commenda 
tion.  It  promised  well  for  his  ardent  desire.  He 
stooped  forward  and  watched  his  son  a  minute  or 
two,  and  then  said,  with  more  interest  than  usually 
informed  his  words : 

"  Alphonse  is  a  pretty  tall  fellow  on  a  horse's  back. 
On  his  own  feet  he  is  only  half  there." 

An  hour  or  two  before  sunset,  the  colonel  told 
Bessie  that  they  were  now  upon  their  own  land,  and 
he  pointed  out  with  pride  the  evidences  of  the  fine 


134  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  stands  "  of  corn  and  cotton  which  had  been  raised 
upon  it.  And  just  as  the  red  sun  touched  the  hori 
zon  they  came  near  to  the  Madison  Place.  It  stood 
upon  a  little  eminence,  and  the  grounds  sloped  down 
on  every  side  to  the  creek  and  to  the  level  prairie. 
Great  live-oaks  stretched  out  their  limbs  behind  it 
as  widely  as  possible,  Texan  to  the  last  twig- ;  vast 
dark  pecans  stood  sentinels  at  all  its  four  corners, 
and  the  firm  sward  was  dotted  all  over  with  the 
glossy  osage,  the  redbud,  the  sloe  and  the  chinqua 
pin.  It  was  a  large,  square  white  house,  with  no  end 
of  piazzas  and  lattices  and  "  additions,"  all  tied  to 
gether  with  an  indistinguishable  tangle  of  vines. 
The  double  door  stood  wide  open,  and  as  the  buggy 
drove  toward  it  a  young  man  rose  from  some  shel 
tered-seat  and  came  to  the  head  of  the  flight  of  white 
steps.  He  stood  there  long  enough  for  Bessie  to 
notice  that  he  was  quite  good-looking  and  also 
dressed  with  considerable  taste  and  care.  Then  he 
slowly  stepped  down  to  the  side  of  the  buggy. 

"Your  cousin,  James  Madison,"  said  the  colonel  to 
Bessie. 

And  Cousin  James  gave  Bessie  his  arm  and  led 
her  up  the  steps,  talking  to  her  the  while  in  a  low, 
soft,  drawling  voice  that  was  not  unpleasant.  As 
they  approached  the  door,  Miss  Madison  came  for 
ward  with  a  pretty  effusiveness  which  was  a  tribute 
for  the  occasion.  For  she  possessed  in  a  remarkable 
degree  the  elegant  inertia  which  in  different  ways 
characterized  her  brothers.  All  her  attitudes  were 
graceful  and  full  of  repose. 

Bessie  looked  at  her  with  a  curious  pleasure.  She 
was  not  the  least  like  Ambrosia,  and  yet  she  was 
more  beautifully  in  unison  with  her  surroundings 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison"  135 

than  Ambrosia  would  have  been.  The  long  black- 
silk  dress,  with  its  drooping  laces,  the  crimson 
flowers,  the  red  coral  were  not  the  idea  of  any  New 
York  modiste,  but  they  were  accessories  suiting  to 
perfection  the  ivory-like  pallor  of  Louisa's  face,  her 
large,  liquid,  brown  eyes,  her  black  hair  and  tall,  lis 
some  figure. 

After  dinner,  the  colonel  soon  left  the  young 
people  together,  and  they  were  not  long  in  finding 
out  each  other  very  correctly.  For  in  no  case  was 
there  any  attempt  to  hide  their  real  characters.  Both 
Alphonse  and  James  considered  their  natural  indi 
vidualities  quite  as  good  and  as  agreeable  as  any 
which  they  could  assume  ;  and  Louisa  would  simply 
have  found  it  too  much  trouble  to  play  a  part,  for 
she  always  thought  the  things  and  did  the  things 
which  Louisa  Madison  would  be  expected  to  do  and  to 
think.  Her  religious  and  domestic  duties  were  faith 
fully  performed,  and  she  found  it  a  conscientiously 
^  comfortable  position  to  pay  even  the  mint,  anise  and 
cummin  that  society  demanded. 

Alphonse,  generally  speaking,  echoed  all  his 
father's  opinions,  and  he  was  subject  to  the  same 
indefinable,  somber  inertia.  James  was  more  vivid 
in  intellect,  more  eager  about  his  own  welfare.  He 
was  at  present  at  the  poetic  stage  of  his  mental 
powers,  and  he  wrote  "  lines  "  and  "  sonnets  "  which 
would  have  made  him  a  local  reputation  fifty  years 
ago.  Besides  which,  he  really  played  the  piano 
well,  and  could  interpret  himself  in  his  various 
moods  through  the  melancholy  Chopin  or  the  sen 
suous  Rossini.  On  various  subjects  of  the  day  he 
had  written  his  opinions  for  the  Austin  Gazette,  and 
he  kept  these  printed  opinions  in  his  scrap-book  and 


136  Girls  of  a  Feather. 


very  proud  of  them.  For  nothing  in  this  life  is 
stranger  than  the  burning  anxiety  to  teach,  which 
those  feel  who  are  themselves  just  learning.  It 
never  seems  to  enter  their  minds  that  the  thoughts 
of  life  so  new  and  strange  to  them  are  old  and  stale 
to  others. 

Still,  these  divers  elements  blended  very  happily 
together  that  night.  James  played  and  recited  and 
read  quotations  from  his  scrap-book  ;  Alphonse  list 
ened  and  asked  questions  ;  Louisa  looked  very  lovely 
and  smiled  approval  ;  and  Bessie  suggested  and  chat 
tered  ;  the  result  being  that  James  and  Bessie  were 
the  active  players  in  the  little  household  drama,  and 
Alphonse  and  Louisa  the  passive  observers  of  it. 

Bessie,  however,  had,  in  one  respect,  a  great  ad 
vantage  over  her  cousins.  She  was  behind  the  scenes. 
Her  father  had  made  her  familiar  with  the  position. 
She  knew  the  care  that  brooded  in  the  handsome 
xooms,  and  she  was  not  impressed  by  the  number  of 
servants  and  carriages  and  horses  and  the  constant 
coming  and  going  of  visitors.  These  things  repre 
sented  nothing  to  the  practical  little  New  York  girl 
but  ruinous  extravagance.  And  she  could  not  help 
speculating  as  to  what  the  future  of  these  elegant 
young  people  would  be,  if  they  had  to  face  the  actual 
-struggle  of  life  and  earn  their  daily  bread. 

Would  Alphonse  be  then  able  to  afford  himself 
such  a  number  of  fine  saddle  and  driving  horses  and 
such  tip-top  riding-  and  driving-suits  of  clothing? 
Would  James's  fine  embroidered  linen  and  gorgeous 
•waistbands  and  silk  hosiery  be  suitable  for  any  work 
his  soft  white  hands  could  do?  And  how  would 
Louisa  meet  daily  life  without  her  maid  and  her 
laundress,  her  private  pony  and  negro  groom  and  all 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison" 


the  expensive  accessories  of  her  domestic  state  ?  As 
for  her  uncle  Sam,  Bessie  was  sure  poverty  could; 
only  affect  him  through  his  children,  for  his  personal 
wants  appeared  to  be  of  the  simplest  kind. 

But  in  her  latter  estimate,  Bessie  reasoned  as  a 
woman  generally  does  reason,  from  the  appearance 
of  things.  Uncle  Sam's  wants  were  really  of  the 
most  extravagant  order.  He  wanted  money  to  spend 
-freely  in  procuring  the  votes  necessary  to  keep  him 
in  certain  political  powers,  and  no  small  sum  was 
sufficient  for  this  purpose.  He  liked  to  have  people 
say  that  Colonel  Madison  owned  the  fastest  horses 
and  the  finest  breeds  of  cattle  in  the  State  of  Texas. 
He  paid  large  sums  for  imported  hunting-dogs.  He 
was  unable  to  say  :  "  No  !"  if  an  old  friend  asked  him 
for  either  his  name  or  his  money.  He  was,  in  fact,. 
the  son  of  a  dead  past  —  a  past  of  extravagant  social 
and  political  obligations,  and  he  had  not  been  able  to 
emancipate  himself  from  all  its  shadowy  claims. 

It  was  often  very  difficult  for  Bessie  to  believe 
that  the  colonel  and  her  father  were  really  brothers., 
She  was  so  sure  that  in  very  few  of  the  affairs  of  life 
they  would  decide  alike  ;  for  she  did  not  reflect  that. 
men  are  changed  far  more  by  their  surroundings: 
than  by  any  mysterious  mental  or  spiritual  influ 
ence.  Her  father  had  been  transplanted  at  an  early 
age  to  a  different  climate  and  a  different  order  of 
business  and  social  life.  He  had  taken  on  the  color- 
and  the  very  nature  of  his  surroundings.  It  had: 
been  a  vital  necessity  that  he  should  do  this  ;  and 
self-preservation  is  a  law  all  are  disposed  to  satisfy.. 
His  brother  had  been  naturally  and  circumstantially 
led  in  very  different  directions.  But  both  men  were 
the  outgrowths  of  their  environments  —  their  faults 


138  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

and  their  virtues  being  as  consequent  and  individu 
alized  as  any  of  the  most  ordinary  results  of  natural 
law. 

This  diversity  of  action,  even  where  interests 
were  the  same,  was  shown  in  the  conduct  of  the 
two  brothers  relative  to  the  proposed  marriage  as  a 
means  of  saving  the  Madison  Texan  estate.  Bessie's 
father  trusted  his  daughter  with  every  detail.  He 
said  to  her  plainly  : 

"  The  land  will  be  a  veritable  dukedom  in  another 
generation.  The  house  is  the  cradle  of  our  family. 
My  brother  is  dear  to  me.  I  know  nothing  of  his 
children.  But  at  the  last,  Bessie,  blood  is  thicker 
than  water ;  and  if  you  could  love  either  of  the  boys 
I  would  be  glad  enough  to  spend  the  thirty  thousand 
dollars  necessary  to  keep  the  old  home  in  the  family 
and  the  name.  But  mind  !  You  are  to  be  the  judge. 
You  are  not  to  marry  either  of  them  unless  you 
think  them  worthy  of  your  affection  and  safe  to  trust 
your  happiness  with.  Whatever  you  decide,  Bessie, 
will  influence  me  in  the  matter  entirely." 

On  the  contrary,  the  colonel  had  said  nothing  to 
his  sons  or  his  daughter  of  the  real  state  of  the  case. 
What  he  did  say  was  : 

"  Your  cousin,  Bessie  Madison,  of  New  York,  is 
not  very  well.  I  rather  think  my  brother  is  a  trifle 
anxious  about  her.  She  is  all  the  child  he  has.  I 
have  asked  her  here  for  the  winter,  and  I  hope  you 
will  all  try  and  make  the  visit  very  pleasant  to  her." 

He  made  these  remarks  one  evening  as  he  sat 
with  his  family  on  the  piazza,  and  there  was  a  few 
minutes'  silence  after  them.  Alphonse,  James  and 
Louisa  alike  wondered  at  this  sudden  renewal  of  kind 
ness  between  relatives  so  long  absolutely  ignored, 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison,'  139 

but  none  of  them  cared  to  make  any  query  about 
their  wonder.  James  was  ready  to  speak  first,  and 
he  only  said  : 

"  I  hope  she  is  pretty  and  presentable — and  not 
prejudiced.  Northern  girls  can  say  such  disagree 
able  things,  if  they  like,  about  our  ways  ;  they  are  so 
clever." 

"  She  is  only  a  girl  in  her  teens.  She  is  not  likely 
to  know  much  about  our  ways.  And  I  dare  say  she 
has  inherited  tendencies  toward  them." 

"  I  hope  she  is  stylish  and  dresses  well,"  said 
Louisa. 

"She  has  just  come  from  Paris.  I  suppose  she 
would  get  some  dresses  there." 

"  Any  girl  with  ordinary  intelligence  would.  I 
wish  I  had  the  opportunity.  I  should  improve  it." 

"  And  she  has  plenty  of  money.  Brother  is  worth 
a  million — perhaps  two  millions.  This  girl  is  all  he 
has  to  heir  it.  I  reckon  it  will  be  as  well  not  to  tell 
the  Duke  boys  about  her  money.  If  it  is  known 
there  will  be  no  keeping  them — and  others,  too — 
away." 

"  James,"  said  Louisa,  "  that  advice  is  for  you. 
Father,  you  must  know  that  James  is  reading  his 
'poems'  to  Azalia  Davis  now." 

The  colonel  laughed  in  a  low,  queer  fashion,  and 
then  answered : 

"  Jim  is  taking  his  poems  to  a  good  market,  then.'* 

"  Sir,  I  am  led  by  no  such  mean  motive." 

"  Pardon,  Jim  !  I  meant  no  harm.  Far  from  it. 
I  only  say  that  Azalia  Davis  has  plenty  of  land  and 
sixty  thousand  dollars  in  cash.  If  you  can  pass  in 
your  poems  for  the  title-deeds  and  the  vouchers,  I 
cay  you  do  a  thing  to  be  proud  of.  I  only  mean  that  if 


140  Cirls  of  a  Feather. 

my  niece  Madison's  millions  cannot  be  for  the  Madi- 
sons,  I  do  not  want  them  to  go  to  the  Bownes  or  the 
Cookes  or  any  of  that  crowd.     That  is  allt" 
"  Let  Alphonse  look  after  them,"  said  James. 
•"  Alphonse  will  never  count  love  and  dollars  to 
gether,"  answered  the  young  man,  hotly.    "  I  would 
not  sell  the  best  part  of  myself  for  twenty  millions !" 
"  You   ought   to  be  the  poet  of  the  family,  Al 
phonse,"  said  the  colonel,  with  an  indifferent  air. 

"  I  hope  she  will  have  some  miraculous  costumes. 

Her  money  is  nothing  to  me,"  sighed  Miss  Madison. 

"Well,  I  reckon,  children,  her  money  would  be 

important  to  all  of  us.   There  is  a  mortgage  hanging 

•over  Madison  that  has  got  to  be  lifted  soon,  and  a 

few  hundred  thousand  dollars  would  make  the  ranch 

^the  show-place  in  the  State  of  Texas." 

"  No  answer  was  made  to  this  assertion,  and  the 
'colonel  was  willing  to  let  his  case  rest  here.  Neither 
.Alphonse  nor  James  needed  more  than  the  word 
proverbially  said  to  be  sufficient  for  the  wise.  It 
'did- not  appear  to  influence  Alphonse  in  the  least. 
.He  followed  his  usual  ways,  and  never  named  Bes- 
;sie's  advent  again.  James  believed  himself  to  have 
•^exhibited  a  like  indifference.  But  Louisa  noticed 
'-Jliat  James  went  into  Austin  to  see  his  tailor  very 
-  frequently,  and  that  he  did  not  go  as  frequently  as 
-before  to  visit  Miss  Azalia  Davis.  Evidently,  then, 
,James  was  holding  his  affections  in  abeyance. 

But  he  made  no  objections  to  Alphonse  going  to 
•Galveston  with  his  father  to  meet  the  expected 
.heiress.  James  never  forgot  details,  and  he  had 
considered  the  value  of  first  impressions,  and 
decided  that  it  was  against  a  man's  appearance  to 
£O  out  in  the  gray  mist  before  dawn  to  meet  a 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison''1  141 

steamer  at  the  Bar.  He  could  not,  tinder  the  cir 
cumstances,  wear  the  dress  most  becoming,  and  the 
very  effusiveness  of  such  a  proceeding1  was  foreign 
to  his  disposition.  The  fine  linen,  the  elegant 
house  deshabille,  with  the  languors  and  dawdling  it 
permitted,  were  more  suitable  to  James's  idea  of  a 
perfect  gentleman.  He  held  the  usual  Southern 
belief,  also,  that  all  New  Yorkers  lived  and  moved, 
and  had  their  being  in  a  rush  and  a  push  ;  and  he 
was  sure  that  a  little  graceful  repose  would  be  tell 
ing  with  a  girl  who  was  accustomed  to  hurry  and 
flurry  and  perpetual  restlessness. 

These  were  the  conditions  into  which  Bessie  Madi 
son  came.  They  did  not,  of  course,  reveal  them 
selves  all  at  once.  It  was  only  now  and  then  she  got 
the  key  to  some  misunderstood  position.  For  every 
one  was  bound  to  serve  her,  to  do  her  honor,  to  find 
her  amusement.  She  was  taught  how  to  ride  and 
how  to  drive,  and  also  how  to  dance  with  a  grace 
that  no  Parisian  master  has  ever  dreamed  of.  The 
colonel  himself  selected  her  pony  and  gave  her  first 
lessons  in  its  management,  and  then  when  she  had 
become  familiar  with  its  temper  and  its  gaits,  Al- 
phonse  and  James  accompanied  the  two  girls  for  a 
gallop  every  morning. 

And  surely  if  Love  could  have  been  called  at  will,, 
these  were  mornings  to  summon  him  ;  for  no  time, 
except  a  Texan  spring,  can  be  lovelier  than  a  Texan 
fall.  Such  ineffable  skies  and  atmosphere  !  Such 
scents  of  sweet,  dying  shrubs  and  flowers  !  Such  pun 
gent,  balmy  odors  from  the  distant  pines  !  Such  mys 
terious  enchantments  in  the  silent  woods,  where  the 
very  flowing  of  the  water  had  a  sleepy  sound,  as  if 
it  was  the  lullaby  of  nature  !  In  these  quiet  woods 


142  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

they  often  dismounted  and  sat  down  together  on  the 
soft  turf.     The  still  melancholy  made  them  all  silent. 
They  were  content  to  enjoy  that  mental  state  which 
/  so  often  invades  even  the  lightest  heart  at  the  close 
'  of  the  year,  when  neither  thinking  nor  even  dream 
ing  they  let  personality  flutter  away  in  a  delicious 
torpor  or  semi-oblivion. 

Then,  perhaps,  after  a  long  pause,  James  would 
softly  remark : 

"  In  the  spring  these  woods  were  restless  with 
life." 
j     Or  Louisa  would  sigh  : 

"  How  magnificent  are  these  trees  !    How  delight 
ful  it  is  to  rest  under  them  !" 
j     And  Bessie  would  reply  : 

"  Besides,  they  do  not  grow  for  human  admiration. 
We  do  that." 

Or  Alphonse  would  slowly  rise  and  advise  a  return 
home,  "  because  in  an  hour  the  sun  might  be  uncom 
fortably  warm." 

And  then  the  soft,  dreamy  inertia  would  be  gone 
in  a  moment,  and  an  almost  riotous  mirth  take  its 
place  ;  and  so,  racing  and  laughing,  home  be  made 
in  a  flutter  which  had  nothing  in  it  but  simple 
physical  excitement. 

But  what  is  there  to  tell  in  a  life  whose  chief  in 
terests  are  riding  and  dressing  and  eating  and  dan 
cing  and  visiting?  The  greatest  painter  can  give 
no  individuality  to  a  picture  of  a  ball-room,  for  one 
ball-room  is  just  like  another  ball-room  ;  and  days  of 
riding  and  visiting  and  nights  of  dancing  and  flirt 
ing  are  very  much  alike,  unless,  indeed,  love  or  sor 
row  or  some  other  mental  emotion  comes  in  to 
elevate  and  inform  their  mere  physical  character. 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison"  143 

In  Bessie's  case,  love  did  not  seriously  interfere. 
She  had  many  lovers,  but  among  them  not  one 
whom  she  loved.  The  memory  of  her  lover  at  sea 
closed  the  door  of  her  heart  against  all  other  appli 
cants.  She  did  not  hear  a  word  from  him.  She  did 
not  know  where  he  was.  It  was  possible  she  would 
never  see  him  again.  But  behind  every  such  doubt 
stood  a  conviction  clear  as  light  and  strong  as  life, 
that  she  would  see  him  again,  that  he  would  meet 
her  at  Galveston  in  March,  that  he  did  love  her,  that 
he  was  worthy  of  her  love,  and  that  he  would  prove 
himself  so,  even  to  her  father's  satisfaction. 

Soon  after  the  New  Year,  James  abandoned  his 
hopes  of  ever  winning  his  cousin.  There  was  a 
wall  of  contradictions  between  James  and  Bessie, 
that  no  love  or  even  interest  could  surmount.  He 
felt  that  Bessie  did  not  appreciate  his  fine  mental 
powers,  that  she  did  not  even  admire  his  physical 
advantages,  and  James  Madison  was  of  that  wise 
order  of  men,  who  can  sing  complacently  of  any 
woman : 

"  If  she  be  not  fair  for  me, 

What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ?" 

Bessie  was  aware  of  the  change  as  soon  as  it  took 
place.  She  said  to  her  cousin  Louisa  : 

"  James  has  deserted  me.  He  has  concluded  that 
a  girl  who  has  so  little  taste  for  poetry  and  so  little 
aptitude  for  worshiping  the  poet  is  not  the  girl  to 
make  him  happy,"  and  she  sang  softly  the  mournful 
words  and  melody  of  the  "  Mocking-Bird :" 

"  '  1  feel  like  one  forsaken  !     Forsaken  !     Forsaken! 
I  feel  like  one  forsaken, 
And  the  mocking-bird  is  singing  o'er — ' 

etcetera,  etcetera.     I  wonder  if   the   pretty  Azalia 


144  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Davis  will  take  him  into  favor  again.  I  noticed  that 
she  did  not  speak  to  him  at  the  Capitol  Ball." 

4<  I  dare  say  they  will  make  up  the  quarrel.  Azalia 
has  always  liked  James.  They  will  talk  about  you 
and  then  be  lovers  again." 

"You  mean  they  will  say  disagreeable  things 
about  me?" 

"  Not  very  disagreeable.  James  would  not  say 
anything  ungentlemanly.  But  he  may  permit  Azalia 
to  be  sorry  for  you.  I  rather  think  James  himself 
is  a  little  sorry  for  you." 

"  Because  I  have  not  fallen  in  love  with  him  ?" 

"  Well — he  thinks  you  ought  to  have  done  so. 
Most  girls  do." 

"  Alphonse  is  a  great  deal  more  manly  and  a  great 
deal  more  interesting  than  James." 

"  But  not  so  handsome  ?" 

"  I  think  much  more  so." 

Louisa  said :  "  Oh !"  in  a  tone  which  greatly  an 
noyed  Bessie,  and  she  answered  it  by  a  still  more 
positive  declaration  regarding  the  good  looks  and 
good  nature  of  Cousin  Alphonse.  This  conversation 
Louisa  repeated  to  her  brother  Alphonse  at  the  first 
opportunity.  She  expected  him  to  be  delighted,  and 
he  was  not.  He  heard  all  Bessie's  words  of  praise  in 
silence.  His  brows  were  drawn,  his^mouth  closed, 
there  was  a  visible  air  of  annoyance  on  his  face. 

"  You  do  not  appear  pleased,  Alphonse  ?"  she  said, 
at  the  close  of  her  communication.  "  Yet  you  ought 
to  be." 

"  A  man  is  always  pleased  to  hear  that  a  good  and 
pretty  girl  admires  him." 

"  And  Bessie  is  so  rich  !  Only  think  what  a  grand 
thing  it  would  be  for  us  if  you  married  Bessie  !" 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison."  145 

"  I  do  not  want  to  marry  Bessie.  Surely  a  girl 
may  admire  a  man,  and  a  man  may  admire  a  girl, 
without  either  of  them  thinking  of  marriage  ?" 

"  I  should  not  suppose  so.  Marriage  would  be 
the  natural  consideration.  Father  will  be  dread 
fully  disappointed  if  Bessie  and  you  do  not 
marry." 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  disappoint  father,  but — 

"  Surely  you  have  given  up  Margaret  Blair  ?  And 
there  is  nothing  else  to  prevent." 

"  Who  told  you  I  had  given  up  Margaret  ?" 

"  You  never  call  upon  her  now," 

"  How  can  you  tell  that?" 

"  Alphonse,  surely  that  trouble  is  over  !  Father 
will  never  forgive  you  if  that  relation  is  renewed. 
The  girl  has  neither  family  nor  money.  She  is  not 
even  pretty !" 

"  She  is  exceedingly  pretty." 

"So  colorless !" 

"  She  has  the  loveliest  color." 

"  In  her  cheeks.  Only  milkmaids  want  rosy 
cheeks." 

"  She  has  the  bluest  eyes  and  the  brightest  hair. 
But  we  need  not  catalogue  the  beauties  of  Margaret 
Blair.  They  are  seen  at  a  glance." 

"  I  am  sure  she  is  not  worth  comparison  with 
Cousin  Bessie." 

"  Bessie  is  beautiful  and  good-natured  and  clever ; 
I  admit  all  that." 

"  And  stylish  and  rich  and  generous  !" 

"  She  has  every  good  quality ;  but  I  do  not  love 
her ;  and  I  do  love  Margaret." 

"  I  think  a  man  ought  to  be  willing  to  sacrifice  his 
inclinations  for  the  good  of  his  home  and  his  father 


146  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

and  his  sister ;  not  to  speak  of  his  own  future  or  of 
his  descendants." 

"You  mean,  Louisa,  that  I  ought  to  make  my 
whole  life  a  disappointment  for  the  sake  of  this 
house  and  the  acres  around  it?  As  for  my  future, 
it  is  in  my  own  hands,  and  I  know  nothing  about 
those  who  are  to  come  after  me." 

"  You  will  do  as  you  want  to  do,  Alphonse — I  have 
no  doubt  of  that;"  and  with  these  words,  Louisa 
made  herself  comfortable  upon  the  sofa  and  lifted 
the  novel  she  was  reading. 

This  conversation  took  place  in  January,  and  many 
resembling  it  followed.  Louisa  was  beginning  to 
lose  all  hope  long  before  her  father  had  a  fear.  She 
knew  that  Alphonse  could  easily  make  opportunities 
for  meeting  his  old  love,  and  she  had  a  conviction 
he  was  doing  so.  For  though  he  was  the  faithful 
attendant  of  Bessie  and  herself  to  every  festivity, 
though  he  seemed  to  regulate  his  whole  time  to  their 
engagements  and  desires,  she  felt  that  his  heart  was 
very  seldom  with  them. 

Bessie  felt  it  also.  The  visit  began  to  drag.  She 
was  very  weary  of  the  perpetual  dancing  and  riding, 
and  she  often  found  herself  longing  for  her  father 
and  for  New  York.  Even  the  thought  of  Amber  and 
her  state  dinners  was  interesting  ;  and  she  resolved 
to  make  her  promise  to  remain  until  March  mean  as 
early  in  March  as  possible.  For  she  felt  that  her 
visit  had  been  in  its  main  intent  a  failure.  She  had 
virtually  been  refused  by  both  her  cousins,  and  in 
her  own  eyes  she  was  humiliated  by  the  circum 
stance,  and  sometimes  a  little  angry  at  it. 

About  the  end  of  January,  the  engagement  of 
James  to  Miss  Davis  was  a  public  fact ;  and  Azal:a 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison"  147 

was  much  at  the  Madison  place,  where  she  was  nat 
urally  a  person  of  great  importance.  In  fact,  James 
and  Azalia  seemed,  in  their  effusive  love-making,  to 
usurp  the  whole  interest  and  sympathy  of  the  house, 
and  Bessie  could  not  help  feeling  just  a  trifle  in  the 
way.  Sometimes  she  fancied  there  was  an  air  sup 
pressed  pity  and  triumph  in  the  lovers,  which  was 
extremely  offensive  to  her ;  and  yet  she  could  not 
speak  of  it  even  to  Louisa,  for  she  knew  that  she 
would  be  told  the  fancy  was  entirely  an  imaginary  one. 

Besides,  she  did  not  like  Azalia,  who  affected  an 
extreme  exaggeration  of  all  Southern  peculiarities 
and  an  extreme  astonishment  at  all  Northern  fash 
ions  and  habits.  Azalia  was  full  of  languors.  Bes 
sie's  vivacity  depressed  and  wearied  her.  Azalia 
played  and  sang  very  softly  and  sweetly  certain 
Lorena-like  songs,  steeped  in  mournfulness  and 
pathos.  Bessie's  little  fingers  delighted  in  the  tin 
kling  measure  of  the  comic  operas  or  in  some  spark 
ling  Hungarian  mazurka  full  of  quarter-notes.  If 
she  sang,  her  voice  had  none  but  mirthful  tones. 
Her  smart  dresses,  her  almost  boyish  vests  and  col 
lars  and  short  jackets,  were  very  unwomanly  in 
Azalia's  eyes ;  and  at  every  point  Bessie  and  Azalia 
clashed  in  the  same  way. 

It  was  indeed  quite  impossible  for  Louisa  to  avoid 
giving  Azalia  the  first  place  when  Azalia  was 
present.  James  and  Azalia  together  were  too  potent 
an  influence  to  be  resisted.  But  Bessie  resented 
deeply  the  secondary  position  she  was  then  obliged 
to  take.  For  she  was  too  good-natured  and  too 
polite  to  resist,  since  resistance  meant  covert  dispu 
tation  in  a  house  where  she  was  only  a  visitor. 

Even  the  glory  of  the  advancing  spring  did  not 


148  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

materially  brighten  her  dissatisfaction.  James's 
wedding  was  to  be  solemnized  in  May,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  avoid  the  constant  insistence  of  the 
affair  in  some  way  or  other.  At  the  beginning  of 
March  she  wrote  anxiously  to  Mrs.  Gonzales  about 
their  return  northward,  and  she  was  glad  to  be  in 
formed  that  they  would  leave  two  weeks  earlier  than 
the  first  intention.  The  day  this  news  arrived  was 
peculiarly  welcome.  It  was  a  very  wet  day,  and  the 
house  was  lonely  and  dreary.  The  colonel  had  gone 
into  Austin.  James  and  Azalia  had  left  the  preced 
ing  night,  after  wearying  everybody  out  with  their 
claims  for  advice  and  attention  and  sympathy. 
Louisa  was  in  bed  with  a  nervous  headache,  brought 
on,  she  averred,  with  helping  Azalia  and  her  lover 
to  select  from  books  full  of  patterns  of  dress  and 
upholstery  goods.  Alphonse  had  disappeared  after 
breakfast,  and  there  was  not  a  sound  in  the  big 
house,  but  some  fitful  exclamation  or  senseless  giggle 
from  the  negroes  in  the  kitchen. 

Bessie  sat  down  in  the  chill  parlor  and  took  her 
self  seriously  to  task. 

"  What  am  I  staying  here  for?"  she  asked.  "  I  did 
not  want  to  marry  Cousin  James,  and  he  takes  a  de 
light  in  making  me  observe  that  he  is  delighted  I 
did  not  want  to  marry  him.  Cousin  Alphonse  is 
good  and  kind  ;  but  I  do  not  want  to  marry  him,  and 
I  am  sure  he  does  not  want  to  marry  me.  He  is  not 
the  least  like — the  other.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  see  him 
again.  •  He  really  loved  me.  He  loved  me  at  once. 
He  did  not  require  to  learn  how  to  love  me — he  knew 
how !  Whether  he  meets  me  or  forgets  me  I  will 
not  marry  any  man  until  he  loves  me  just  in  that 
kind  of  way." 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison"  149 

As  she  sat  musing  after  this  fashion,  a  little  chill 
and  very  despondent,  Alphonse  entered  the  room. 
He  was  full  of  apologies,  but  evidently  so  privately 
happy  that  he  could  not  feel  as  if  there  was  any 
necessity  to  offer  an  apology  for  anything  in  life. 
His  appearance  finally  attracted  Bessie's  curiosity  v 
and  she  said  : 

"  You  look  very  happy,  cousin  ?" 

"  I  am  very  happy.  I  am  so  happy,  Bessie,  I  should 
like  to  tell  you  why." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  could  guess  ?" 

"Try." 

"  You  are  in  love  ?" 

•'Yes." 

"  And  the  lady  loves  you  ?" 

"You  are  right.  How  did  you  guess  so 
well?" 

"  I  had  a  lover  before  I  came  here." 

"  And  you  loved  him?" 

Bessie  nodded  intelligently. 

"  I  should  like  to  tell  you  about  my  Margaret." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  about  her.  Let  us  sit  down 
and  be  confidential." 

She  moved  toward  the  sofa  and  motioned  Alphonse 
to  sit  beside  her.  He  was  glad  to  do  so.  He  wanted 
some  human  sympathy  in  his  happiness,  and  he 
opened  his  heart  to  Bessie.  He  told  her  all  about 
his  betrothed — how  good  and  lovely  and  self-deny 
ing  she  was ;  and,  most  of  all,  how  long  he  had 
adored  her. 

"  This  morning  she  has  promised  to  be  my  wife  if 
I  will  make  her  a  home,  however  humble.  Now  I 
must  find  something  else  to  do  than  ride  round  the 
Madison  acres,  unless  father  will  pay  me  an  over- 


1 50  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

seer's  salary.     Margaret  and  I  can  be  happy  on  very 
little,"  he  said. 

"  I  suppose  James  is  going  to  live  on  the  Davis 
place  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  your  father  can  hardly  do  without  both  of 
you.  A  great  deal  of  riding  seems  necessary,  and  I 
heard  uncle  say  that  no  one  but  Alphonse  knew  the 
stock  thoroughly." 

"  If  Brother  Jack  was  only  here,  I  would  Join  Tom 
Moffat  in  his  horse  business." 

"  '  Brother  Jack  ?'  I  never  heard  of  Brother  Jack 
before." 

"  Nobody  names  poor  Jack  now,  and  yet  a  nobler, 
kinder,  handsomer  boy  never  lived.  He  is  two  years 
older  than  I  am.  I  wish  I  knew  something  about 
him  !" 

"  Has  he  been  long  away  ?" 

"  Nine  years." 

"And  you  have  forgotten  him,  I  suppose?" 

"  I  think  of  him  every  day." 

"  Where  is  he  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  knew." 

"  What  did  he  leave  home  for  ?" 

"  Because,  some  way,  he  could  not  please  father, 
whatever  he  did.  Father  has  a  temper  ;  so  has  Jack. 
One  morning  they  had  a  quarrel  about  a  mare 
Jack  was  riding,  and  father,  in  a  passion,  struck 
Jack.  Jack  bowed  to  him  in  silence  and  rode  away. 
He  never  came  back." 

"  But  you  knew  where  he  went  to?" 

"  He  went  to  the  City  of  Mexico  first.  He  wrote 
to  father  from  there  ;  but  the  letter  came  at  a  bad 
hour,  and  father  sent  it  back.  Jack  wrote  no  more." 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison"  151 

"  Poor  Jack  !     Did  you  never  try  to  find  him  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  without  any  success.  Moffat  heard  in 
Mexico  that  he  went  with  a  party  to  California. 
But  Jack  makes  no  sign,  and  we  never  name 
him." 

"  I  feel  a  great  interest  in  this  unknown  Cousin 
Jack.  I  believe  I  can  find  him.  When  I  get  back 
to  New  York,  I  will  tell  father  about  Jack,  and  he  is 
sure  to  know  how  to  reach  the  runaway.  Alphonse, 
were  you  told  that  my  father  and  your  father  wished 
to  make  a  marriage  between  myself  and  one  of  my 
cousins  ?" 

"  I  was  told  of  no  such  compact,  but  I  know  that 
father  is  exceedingly  anxious  you  and  I  should 
marry.  James  was  out  of  consideration,  long 
since." 

"  And  you,  also,  Alphonse  ?" 

•"  If  you  had  shown  any  love  for  me,  Bessie,  it 
would  have  been  an  easy  thing  to  love  you  in  return. 
But  I  saw  from  the  first  that  you  were  indifferent 
both  to  James  and  myself." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  nice  words,  Alphonse.  Is  it 
not  a  comfortable  thing  to  be  quite  honest  with  each 
other?  Really,  you  are  right.  I  did  not  wish  to 
marry  either  you  or  James ;  and  I  did  not  believe, 
in  any  case,  that  father  would  permit  the  old  home 
to  go  out  of  the  family.  Father's  plans  never  fail, 
because  he  can  always  find  more  ways  than  one  to  a 
desired  end.  When  I  go  back  home,  I  shall  say : 
'  Father,  I  cannot  marry  either  Cousin  James  or 
Cousin  Alphonse,  but  there  is  a  Cousin  Jack,  whom 
neither  of  us  has  seen.  Suppose  you  try  to  find  him 
in  Mexico  or  California  ?'  There  are  a  largeness  and 
a  vagueness  about  Mexico  and  California  that  I 


152  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

should  say  would  stimulate  any  professional  seeker 
for  the  young  man." 

Alphonse  took  the  suggestion  quite  seriously. 

"  I  can  write  to  Don  Beauregard,  who  lives  now  in 
San  Francisco.  He  likes  me,  and  will  put  advertise 
ments  in  the  California  papers." 

"  That  would  be  wasted  energy.  The  New  York 
Herald  is  quite  sufficient.  If  Jack  is  in  any  of  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth,  the  Herald  will  find 
him." 

"  I  believe  you  think  the  Herald  is  omnipotent." 

"  And  I  need  not  apologize  for  the  assumption. 
The  Herald  is  as  adequate  to  hunting  out  the 
smallest  question  as  to  dealing  with  the  largest,  and 
quite  as  cheerfully  willing  to  find  a  stray  child  as  to 
dictate  the  policy  of  the  government." 

"  You  talk  as  if  the  Herald  governed  the  coun- 
try." 

"  We  all  know  it  does,  or  if  we  do  not  know  it,  we 
ought  to.  However,  even  the  ubiquitous  Herald  will 
want  a  description  of  Jack.  What  is  he  like  ?" 

"  Nine  years  make  a  difference,  but  I  have  a  photo 
of  him,  taken  not  very  long  before  he  went 
away." 

And  Alphonse  found  the  picture  in  the  leather 
case  of  his  pocketbook,  and  put  it  into  Bessie's 
hand. 

She  gazed  at  it  curiously,  with  a  constantly  in 
creasing  interest.  And  Alphonse  watched  her  with 
an  equal  interest.  Never  before  had  he  seen  Bessie's 
face  so  full  of  beauty ;  her  cheeks  were  rosy  red  ; 
her  mouth  smiling ;  her  eyes  sparkling ;  and  a  strange 
joy  lighted  up  her  whole  countenance. 

"  I  like  that  face,"  she  said  positively.     "  Shall  I 


"Enter  Mr.  Jack  Madison"  i  53 

write  down  its  description,  or  can  you  spare  the 
photo?" 

"  I  cannot  give  up  the  photo,  but  I  will  have  it 
copied  for  you." 

"  That  will  do.  Go  about  it  to-morrow.  I  may 
leave  very  soon,  now.  And,  Cousin  Alphonse,  do  not 
give  up  your  true  love.  Just  as  surely  as  I  and  you 
are  talking  together,  everything  will  come  right  for 
Margaret  and  you.  Be  patient  a  little.  Can  you  trust 
me  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  can,  Bessie." 

"  Say  for  six  months  ?" 

"  For  all  my  life  !" 

"Oh,  that  is  a  big  promise.  I  will  not  ask  so 
much.  Be  true  to  yourself  and  Margaret  for  six 
months." 

"  Six  months." 

"  vSo  long,  and  no  longer.  And  do  not  forget  to 
have  the  photo  copied." 

"Do  you  expect  to  find  Jack  in  six  months  ?" 

"  I  really  do.  Now  I  am  going  to  Louisa,  but  I 
shall  not  name  Cousin  Jack  to  her.  Jack  is  our 
secret.  Don't  forget  the  photo.  It  must  be  copied 
in  a  few  days." 

"  Stay  and  talk  a  little  longer,  Bessie.  You  make 
life  look  so  different." 

"  Then  go  and  write  a  long  love-letter  to  Mar 
garet,  and  make  life  look  like  one  large  hope  to  her. 
If  I  had  a  lover,  I  should  insist  on  love-letters,  even 
if  he  lived  next  door  to  me.  Write  a  long,  sweet 
one,  Alphonse.  You  have  no  idea  how  girls  do 
love  love-letters." 

She  left  him  wijh  his  new-found  hopes,  but  she 
.did  not  go  to  Louisa.  With  swift  little  feet  she 


154  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

sought  her  own  room.  She  locked  the  door  and  sat 
down  and  began  to  laugh  softly  to  herself.  Then 
she  got  up  and  went  to  the  looking-glass  and  gazed 
at  her  happy,  rosy  face  and  sparkling  eyes,  and, 
after  another  low  peal  of  laughter,  she  said : 

"  My  very  hair  is  kinking  and  curling  with  laugh 
ter.  I  wonder  how  I  behaved  so  well !  I  do  not 
think  Alphonse  suspected  anything.  Now  I  know 
why  he  did  not  get  up  to  see  me  leave  the  steamer 
at  Galveston.  There  are  reasons  for  everything,  of 
course,  if  we  had  opportunities  to  discover  them  ; 
and  now  I  know  why  Mr.  John  Newton  did  not  wish 
to  meet  Mr.  Sam  Madison,  not  to  speak  of  Mr.  Al 
phonse.  'T  is  a  pretty  little  play  as  ever  was,  and  I 
would  not  spoil  it  for  any  consideration.  But  it  will 
not  be  very  long  ere  I  shall  say : 

"  *  Enter,  Mr.  Jack  Madison  /'  " 


CHAPTER  IX. 
BESSIE'S  CONFIDENCES. 

"  Let  me,  then,  take  my  will  for  a  reason." 

****** 

"  And  what  but  this  is  sweet — at  last  to  win 
The  fields  of  home,  that  change  not  while  we  change." 

A  creature  not  too  bright  and  good 

For  human  nature's  daily  food.     — Wordsworth. 

Toward  the  end  of  summer  there  is  often  a 
.storm,  and  nothing  is  ever  the  same  after  it.  The 
glory  of  the  roses  is  gone,  the  chill  of  advancing 
autumn  is  felt  in  the  dawning  and  the  gloaming,  and 
we  know  that  winter  is  not  very  far  off.  The  quarrel 
about  Ambrosia's  brother  was  of  this  nature.  It 
broke  up  the  sunny  serenity  of  the  doctor's  long 
honeymoon  and  brought  elements  of  disagreement 
between  his  wife  and  himself.  He  had  feared  her 
truthfulness,  and  she  had  resented  his  want  of  confi 
dence  ;  and  there  had  been  domestic  storm,  which  no 
power  could  make  not  to  have  been.  Something  had 
been  lost  in  that  passionate  passage  of  words  and 
emotions  which  no  after-sunshine  would  restore. 

To  be  sure  in  a  few  days  the  circumstance  was  put 
out  of  sight  and  sound.  Ambrosia  accepted  her  hus- 


156  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

band's  overtures  of  reconciliation,  and  there  was  a 
tacit  agreement  not  to  mention  the  subject  again. 
But  it  was  not  forgotten.  Robert  Carter  could  noc 
put  out  of  his  memory  the  feeling  that  he  had  suf 
fered  a  great  wrong.  Ambrosia  knew  she  had  lost 
something — she  knew  not  how  to  define  it — which 
had  hitherto  made  her  a  little  different  and  a  little 
higher  than  other  womanhood  in  her  husband's  eyes. 
Disenchantment  is  a  rapid  process,  and  she  was 
aware  that  it  had  begun. 

"  Robert  knows  now  that  he  has  married  only  an 
ordinary  mortal,"  she  thought.  And  she  sighed  and 
had  a  moment's  keen  regret.  For  the  dream  of 
womanhood  is  still  divinity.  A  girl  loves  a  man  who 
makes  her  believe  she  is  a  goddess. 

And  the  first  quarrel  between  a  man  and  his  wife 
is  like  the  opening  of  a  door.  Love  locks  the  door 
and  bids  both  alike  to  beware  of  the  room  of  conten 
tion  which  is  behind  it.  But  some  day,  either  be 
cause  of  ennui  or  wounded  self-esteem,  or  in  the  very 
wantonness  of  their  fancied  strength  of  affection,, 
they  tamper  with  the  forbidden  entrance.  A  look, 
a  word,  a  dare,  and  the  unhappy  portal  is  crossed. 
There  is  a  certain  excitement  in  the  act.  The  dull 
monotony  of  their  happiness  receives  a  shock  which 
is  not  all  unpleasant.  Lovers,  married  and  single, 
make  quarrels  on  the  same  principle  which  leads 
people  without  troubles  to  invent  them. 

Doctor  Carter  was,  however,  too  busy  a  man  to 
think  of  this  kind  of  amusement,  and  Ambrosia  had 
many  other  interests  to  occupy  her  time  and  thoughts. 
They  were  for  some  weeks  as  happy  in  the  main  as 
it  is  permitted  to  mortals  to  be.  The  doctor  cer 
tainly  wearied  of  the  frequent  dinners  and  balls  he 


Confidences.  157 


was  compelled  to  give  and  to  receive,  because  behind 
this  outward  seeming  of  indefinite  time  there  was  a 
consciousness  that  he  had  not  time  enough  for  all 
the  duties  he  ought  to  perform  and  all  the  plans  he 
wished  to  carry  out. 

He  endeavored  at  first  to  gratify  both  his  wife 
and  himself  by  giving  up  the  hours  of  sleep  to  his 
investigations,  but  the  result  of  this  effort  was  a 
nervous  irritability  and  a  physical  weariness  he  was 
quite  able  to  diagnose.  He  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  must  give  up  society  or  resign  his  pro 
fession,  and  he  put  the  case  very  frankly  before 
Ambrosia. 

She  was  sure  there  was  some  middle  way.  Women 
are  always  in  favor  of  half-and-half  measures,  and 
thence  cometh  their  misery.  She  would  not  hear 
of  the  doctor  resigning  his  lectures  and  scientific 
researches.  They  made  him  famous.  As  for  his 
patients  they  made  him  rich.  And  society,  she 
thought,  was  really  his  best  advertising  medium. 
When  he  went  to  a  dinner  at  some  multi-million 
aire's  palace  people  pointed  him  out  as  one  of  the 
cleverest  and  most  advanced  physicians  in  America. 
Multi-millionaires  are  almost  certain  to  be  multi- 
invalids,  and  what  will  not  a  man  give  for  his  health 
when  he  has  once  thrown  it  away?  Ambrosia 
could  fortify  her  arguments  with  a  most  respectable 
list  of  patients,  and  as  the  doctor  had  no  counter 
arguments  worth  speaking  of,  the  question,  though 
frequently  agitated,  remained  practically  unaltered. 

This  was  a  case  in  which  Will  Carter  found  him 
self  in  an  embarrassing  position.  He  was  a  plain 
little  man,  and  he  felt  his  physical  deficiencies  very 
much.  When  Ambrosia  put  on  the  garments  and 


158  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

the  attitudes  of  a  queen,  he  had  a  reluctance  to  be 
her  only  attendant.  Robert  perfectly  matched  her 
in  stature  and  in  the  airs  of  superb  dignity  she 
affected ;  and  if  Robert  was  to  bear  the  weight  of 
the  comparison,  Will  was  delighted  to  be  Ambrosia's 
faithful  squire — to  carry  her  fan  and  cloak,  to  fetch 
her  an  ice  and  order  her  carriage,  or  even  to  dance 
with  her  when  a  disagreeable  partner  was  to  be 
avoided 

Then,  it  must  be  admitted,  that  Ambrosia  had  a 
slight  contempt  for  Will.  Adversity  had  not  opened 
her  eyes.  She  was  yet  influenced  almost  entirely  by 
what  appealed  to  the  senses.  Nothing  could  make 
Will  Carter  handsome,  and  his  intelligence  and  good 
heart  were  not  qualities  society  required  or  valued. 
She  was  ashamed  of  Will's  bad  taste  in  gloves  and 
neckties,  of  his  little  embarrassments  with  young 
ladies  and  his  effusiveness  with  old  ladies,  and  she 
was  not  proud  of  his  self-denying  charities,  his  wide 
erudition  or  his  great  musical  skill.  These  things 
were  not  outward  and  visible  graces  like  well-fitting 
gloves  and  a  nonchalant  air,  and,  of  course,  if  people 
live  for  society,  then  the  things  which  society  en 
dorses  are  the  things  to  live  for. 

So  Will,  in  social  matters,  could  not  fill  his  broth- 
er's  place ;  and  Ambrosia,  very  delicately  and  flat 
teringly,  made  the  doctor  feel  this.  He  blushed 
with  pleasure  even  while  he  pooh-poohed  the  idea, 
and  affected  to  be  a  century  behind  Will  in  all  things 
lovely  and  of  good  report.  Yet  the  personal  com 
pliment  went  into  all  the  little  corners  of  his  heart,, 
and  he  fastened  his  white  necktie  that  night  with  a 
kindly  consideration  for  his  pretty  wife's  youth  and 
her  vanity  about  his  own  handsome  face  and  figure- 


Bessie  s  Confidences.  159 

"  I  ought  to  be  at  hospital  to-night,"  he  thought ; 
"  I  really  ought.  But  then  Amber  ought  also  to  have 
some  company.  She  is  so  young  and  so  foolish  about 
going  out  only  with  me,  and  so  proud  of  me,  what 
can  I  do  but  try  to  give  her  a  few  hours  ?  Duty  is  a 
great '  call ;'  but,  then,  there  are  so  many  kinds  of 
duties — and  Amber  loves  me  !"  And,  of  course,  this 
consideration  made  it  very  easy  for  him  to  do  his 
duty  to  Amber. 

In  domestic  life,  however,  Will  had  a  great  and 
acknowledged  influence.  It  was  Will  who  smoothed 
away  those  tempers  which  came  often  from  Robert's 
inconsiderate  and  unavoidable  delayings,  and  who 
said  the  soft  words  which  often  made"  wrath  impos 
sible.  It  was  Will  who  went  on  Ambrosia's  little 
errands,  and  who  hunted  the  town  through  for  her 
fancies ;  who  attended  to  the  printing  of  invitation- 
cards  and  the  ordering  of  flowers,  and  who,  in  short, 
spared  Ambrosia  physically  and  counseled  and  con 
soled  her  mentally  in  the  many  small  perplexities 
and  emergencies  that  social  life  creates  and  insists 
upon. 

And  Will  Carter  was  particularly  well  fitted  to  be 
the  friend  of  a  woman.  He  had  comfortable  contra 
dictions  in  his  nature  ;  pleasant  minglings  of  the 
great  and  the  small.  If  he  was  out  for  an  hour  or 
two,  he  was  not  above  bringing  back  to  Ambrosia 
all  the  bits  of  social  gossip  he  had  gleaned  on  the 
street  and  at  the  club.  He  noticed  women's  dresses 
and  men's  foibles.  People  had  a  natural  inclination 
to  tell  Will  secrets,  and  Will  had  no  scruples  about 
making  Ambrosia  as  free  of  them  as  himself. 

"  They  told  me  it  was  a  secret,"  he  would  say,  with 
a  light  laugh.  "  But,  then,  why  should  they  expect  me 


160  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

to  exhibit  more  reticence  than  they  themselves  were 
capable  of  ?  My  opinion  is  that  secrets  are  intended 
to  be  told." 

One  morning  in  March,  he  came  in  with  a  hand 
ful  of  superb  pansies. 

"  I  had  to  buy  them,"  he  said  to  Ambrosia.  "  They 
looked  so  sweet  and  so  frail  and  so  unable  to  take 
care  of  themselves.  You  will  understand  when  I 
tell  you  I  had  been  calling  on  Mrs.  Capt.  Hinton." 

"  I  do  not  see  any  resemblance  between  that  woman 
and  these  lovely  early  pansies." 

" '  Resemblance !'  It  was  the  difference  that 
charmed  me." 

"  I  suppose*  she  talked  to  you  of  all  she  'accom 
plishes,'  and  then  railed  at  useless  women  in  gen 
eral  ?" 

"  That  is  her  parable,  and  she  cries  it  from  the 
house-tops  and  in  the  market-place,  figuratively 
speaking.  She  thanked  God,  as  usual,  that  she  had 
an  iron  constitution  and  no  nerves  and  principles  of 
steel.  And,  apropos  of  it,  I  heard  from  her  the  most 
pitiless,  the  hardest  and  the  most  scornful  gossip 
about  that  unhappy  Mrs.  Southwood." 

"  Let  her  look  after  her  own  household,"  said  Am 
brosia,  with  a  touch  of  anger.  <  "  Every  one  pities  it. 
She  harries  her  husband  and  worries  her  children. 
She  is  the  most  unsympathetic  of  wives  and  the 
most  crushing  of  mothers." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it.  No  one  would  ever  go  to 
her  for  help  or  comfort  in  any  strait." 

Ambrosia,  who  was  reclining  on  a  sofa,  looked  as 
helpless  as  possible,  and  answered  softly  : 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  right,  Will.  Did  you  hear 
what  that  Frenchman  who  was-  staying  with  the 


Bessie  s  Confidences.  1 6  r 

Ladoux  said  of  her  fine  large  animalism  ?  He  was 
with  Miss  Annie,  and  she  could  not  avoid  telling  it." 

"  I  am  ready  to  hear." 

"  After  listening  to  a  long  dissertation  on  the  in 
efficiency  of  the  present  race  of  women  and  her  own 
sensible  cultivation  of  her  physique,  the  Frenchman 
threw  himself  into  an  attitude  and  exclaimed,  with 
one  hand  in  the  air : 

"  '  Magnifique  !  Splendide  !  Sublime  !  Pretty 
good !' " 

"  Pretty  good  for  the  Frenchman  !  Mrs.  Hinton 
told  me,  however,  that  your  cousin,  Miss  Madison,  is 
expected  to-morrow.  Miss  Bessie  furnished  her  with 
a  text  for  a  sermon  to  girls  of  eighteen  having  to  go- 
South  for  the  winter.  She  said  she  would  like  to 
see  any  of  her  girls  want  anything  so  weak  and 
nonsensical." 

"  I  am  glad  Bessie  is  so  near  New  York.  I  like 
Bessie.  I  want  you  to  fall  in  love  with  Bessie.  Do 
you  hear  me,  Will  Carter?  She  is  just  the  sweet^ 
merry,  bright  little  maiden  you  admire.  Bessie  is 
intellectual  also.  She  belongs  to  a  Browning  society, 
and  she  was  always  trying  to  improve  her  mind." 

"  If  ever  I  fall  in  love,-  it  will  be  with  a  girl  in 
spired  by  her  heart  and  not  by  her  intellect." 

"  Next  winter  I  think  I  shall  join  a  Browning  or 
Ibsen  Society." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  better  employed.  Praise 
Browning  and  Ibsen,  as  the  French  praise  le  grand 
Corneille,  without  having  read  him." 

"  No.  I  am  determined  to  read  Browning,  though 
it  takes  a  dozen  of  us  to  work  through  a  poem." 

"  And  when  you  have  finished  it,  what  then  ?" 

"  Then  we  shall  go  comfortably  back  to  our  news- 


1 62  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

papers  and  our  magazines  and  our  own  melodious 
and  understandable  Stedman.  To-morrow  morning 
order  a  basket  of  flowers  to  be  sent  early  to  Bessie. 
I  shall  call  on  her  the  next  day.  I  do  hope  she  has 
not  engaged  herself  to  one  of  the  Texan  young 
men.  Engaged  girls  are  so  disagreeable  to  every 
man  but  the  chosen  one — who  is  generally  disagree 
able  also." 

The  flowers  met  Bessie  on  her  own  threshold. 
She  was  with  her  father,  and  both  were  in  exub 
erant  spirits.  The  joy  of  the  New  Yorker  return 
ing  to  New  York  was  in  her  heart ;  and  the  sight  of 
its  busy  streets  and  the  tumult  of  its  various  life  had 
enthused  her  like  some  potent  spirit. 

"  There  is  not  a  city  in  the  world  like  it,  father," 
she  said.  "  It  is  the  best  of  every  other  city.  It  is 
so  familiar  and  friendly.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
happy  I  was  to  wake  up  this  morning  and  find  we 
were  coming  up  the  Hudson.  And  then  Broadway, 
and  the  ragmen's  chiming  bells,  and — 

"  '  High  overhead  in   the  midst  of  the  streets,  the  electrical 

threadwork, 

Striping  the  air  with  its  lines,  like   the  musical  score  of 
a  giant;' 

those  are  two  lines  from  a  Dutch  poem,  father. 
Madam  made  all  the  girls  learn  it  when  I  was  at 
school.  And  the  policemen  !  They  looked  so  patron 
izingly  and  kindly  when  they  noticed  me  and  my 
trunks.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  what  Amber  called  the 
policemen?" 

She  was  unwrapping  her  flowers  from  their  cover 
ing  of  tissue  paper  as  she  spoke,  and  then  she  saw 
Amber's  card  with  its  few  pleasant  words  of  wel 
come. 


Bessie  s  Confidences.  1 63 

"  Why,  father,  the  flowers  are  from  Amber !  I 
thought  perhaps  you  had  ordered  them.  Are  they 
not  sweet  and  lovely  ?  Give  me  New  York  flowers 
every  time  !  Such  lilies  and  pansies  and  smilax  !  I 
have  not  seen  a  bit  of  smilax  since  I  left  home ! 
How  thoughtful  of  Amber  !  Oh,  I  was  going  to  tell 
you  what  she  called  our  policemen.  The  providence 
of  the  streets.  So  they  are,  to  ladies  about  Twenty- 
third  Street  and  at  the  Avenue  crossings." 

"  Did  you  not  see  beautiful  flowers  in  Texas?" 

"  Wild  flowers — hum-m  !  Very  fair  in  the  grass. 
I  never  cared  to  gather  them.  Some  kinds  did  not 
smell  nice  ;  others  had  no  smell  at  all.  I  like  green 
house  flowers.  Cultivation  does  as  much  for  flowers 
as  for  little  girls.  Are  we  going  to  have  any  break 
fast,  father  ?  I  had  only  a  cup  of  steamboat  coffee 
before  I  landed." 

"  My  dear  Bessie,  order  whatever  you  would  like 
best." 

"  I  will  give  the  order  to  you  and  then  go  upstairs 
and  dress  myself  like  a  Christian.  Listen :  Fried 
oysters  and  rare  beefsteak  and  potatoes,  with  cream 
and  hot  biscuit  and  coffee  and  fried  wheat-cakes  and 
maple-sirup.  I  think  that  will  do.  Please  wait  for 
me  this  morning.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  To  be  sure  I  will.  Can  you  be  ready  in  one 
hour?" 

"  Half  an  hour  is  all  I  want." 

She  was  down  again  in  half  an  hour,  looking  fresh 
and  charming,  and  the  breakfast  after  her  own  heart 
was  waiting  for  her.  She  sat  down  with  an  audible 
sigh  of  satisfaction,  and  let  her  eyes  wander  over  the 
pleasant  table  and  the  handsome  room  and  then 
back  to  the  blazing  fire  and  her  happy  looking 


164  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

father,  standing  before  it,  with  his  morning  paper  in 
his  hand. 

"  Put  away  the  Herald  and  talk  to  me,  father,"  she 
said.  "  And  here  is  your  coffee.  Have  you  heard 
much  of  Cousin  Amber?" 

"  I  have  heard  a  great  deal  about  her  fine  dinners 
and  balls.  If  the  world  was  only  a  drawing-room, 
Amber  would  be  a  great  authority  in  it." 

"  And  Uncle  Ambrose  ?" 

"  He  died  three  weeks  ago.  Doctor  Carter,  myself 
and  three  others  who  remembered  him  were  at  his 
funeral.  A  solemn,  mournful  ceremony  it  was.  Am 
ber  was  there,  but  not  Tom.  Mrs.  Shepherd  said  he 
was  in  Chicago  and  could  not  arrive  in  time.  She  is 
a  noble  woman.  Doctor  Carter  has  no  words  strong 
enough  for  her  devotion  to  your  poor  uncle  unto  the 
very  last  moment." 

"  How  did  she  bear  her  great  trouble  and  the 
changes?" 

"She  bore  her  misfortune  with  the  same  cheerful 
ness  and  moderation  as  she  took  her  good  fortune.  I 
hear  she  is  to  remain  on  the  farm,  which  is  abso 
lutely  her  own." 

"  I  will  go  and  see  her  as  soon  as  possible.  Is  that 
all  the  news,  father?" 

"  I  think  it  is." 

"  No  wonderful  public  event  to  tell  me  ?" 

"  I  am  a  business  man,  Bessie,  and  do  not  observe 
public  events.  A  reputation  for  doing  so  is  as  bad 
as  bankruptcy  to  a  business  man.  Tell  me  your 
news.  You  must  have  something  to  tell !" 

"Where  shall  I  begin?" 

"With  your  relatives.  What  do  you  think  of 
them  ?" 


Bessies  Confidences.  165 

"  I  am  not  a  bit  ashamed  of  any  of  them,  and  that 
is  a  great  matter.  Uncle  Sam  is  not  like  you  at  all, 
but  he  is  good  in  his  own  way.  Alphonse  is  hand 
some  and  good-natured,  and  not  very  clever.  James 
is  very  clever,  very  gentlemanly  and  about  as  gi 
gantic  a  prig  as  was  ever  manufactured  by  what  is 
called  '  culture  !' " 

"  A  prig  ?     What  is  a  prig  ?" 

"  A  man  who  talks  too  fine  to  be  a  real  man — a 
man  who  fears  nothing  so  much  as  an  indecorum. 
James  has  formed  a  little  '  set,'  and  he  and  they  fancy 
they  are  the  chosen  people.  Wherever  they  go  they 
scatter  a  rich  perfume  of  correctness.  All  the  strict 
nesses  wait  upon  their  footsteps.  James  Madison  is 
a  society  Pharisee,  without  much  belief  in  any  other 
society  Pharisee.  And  he  is  going  to  marry  Miss 
Azalia  Davis,  who  has  a  small  principality  in  land 
and  sixty  thousand  dollars  in  cash.  Prigs  generally 
do  well  unto  themselves.  So  you  see  I  had  no  chance 
with  James  Madison,  and  if  James  had  graciously 
inclined  himself  unto  me  I  could  not  marry  a  prig  ; 
could  I,  father  ?" 

"  No.     I  do  not  think  it  would  have  done,  Bessie." 

"  Besides  which,  James  was  a  political  prig.  He 
believed  so  fully  in  the  superiority  of  the  Southerner, 
and  especially  of  the  Texan  Southerner,  that  he  felt 
the  existence  of  the  Northerner,  and  especially  of 
the  New  York  Northerner,  to  be  an  anomaly  which 
it  was  difficult  to  explain,  unless  he  discredited  the 
existence  of  a  wise  and  just  Providence.  Alphonse 
and  Uncle  Sam,  now,  were  straightforward  Philis 
tines.  I  liked  them  far  better." 

"Oh!     Philistines?" 

"  Yes.     They  were  for  the  old  order  of  things  and 


T  66  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

the  old  ways,  and  they  frankly  said  so.  They  knew 
they  were  behind  the  times,  and  they  liked  to  be  so. 
They  made  no  pretenses,  for  they  thought  them 
selves  right  on  every  point ;  and  they  preferred  to 
live  in  Ascalon  and  Gath,  just  as  Ascalon  and  Gath 
were  fifty  years  ago.  But  uncle  is  a  gentleman- 
brave,  courteous  and  not  at  all  selfish  ;  and  Alphonse 
is  very  like  him." 

"  You  never  thought  of  falling  in  love  with  Al 
phonse,  I  suppose,  Bessie  ?" 

"  Alphonse  has  been  in  love  with  a  very  nice  girl 
for  a  long  time.  Some  way  I  knew  he  was  engaged 
as  soon  as  I  met  him.  The  girl  is  poor  and  he  can 
not  marry  her,  and  I  think  it  an  awful  pity,  for  they 
would  be  so  happy.  If  I  were  you,  father,  I  should 
make  Alphonse  and  his  beautiful  Margaret  happy." 
i  "  That  is  your  idea,  Bessie  ?" 

"  All  my  own.  If  there  is  any  real  merit  in  it  give 
me  the  credit.  Did  you  know  there  was  another 
son,  called  Jack?  I  saw  his  likeness.  I  think  I 
could  have  fallen  in  love  with  Jack  Madison." 

"  I  have  heard  of  him.  He  ran  away  from  home 
many  years  ago.  His  father  said  in  his  letter  to  me 
that  he  had  not  heard  of  him  since.  It  is  supposed 
he  died  in  Mexico  or  California." 

"  I  do  not  believe  he  is  dead.  Suppose  we  try  to 
find  Jack  Madison.  I  think  I  could  feel  a  great 
interest  in  Jack.  I  got  Alphonse  to  give  me  a  copy 
of  his  photo  of  the  runaway." 

And  she  took  it  from  a  little  case,  and  handed  it 
to  her  father. 

"I  have  seen  a  face  that  is  a  little  like  this  in 
expression  ;  and  yet  it  is  not  a  common  face." 

"  It  is  a  very  uncommon  face.     Would  it  not  be  a 


Bessies  Confidences.  167 

good  thing  to  find  Jack  and  send  the  prodigal  back 
to  his  father  ?  He  would  be  welcomed  home,  I  am 
sure.  Uncle  Sam  wants  him,  but  he  is  too  stiff- 
necked  a  Philistine  to  say  so." 

"  How  did  you  like  your  cousin  Louisa  ?" 

"  There  is  nothing  to  disapprove  of  in  Louisa — 
perhaps  she  would  be  nicer  if  there  was.  I  was 
always  forced  to  admire  Louisa's  extreme  pro 
priety  ;  and  yet  sometimes  fl  wished  to  get  away 
from  it.  She  renders  to  every  person  and  to  every 
duty  their  due,  and  she  goes  to  church  regularly  on 
Sunday.  Also  she  is  beautiful ;  she  has  large,  soft- 
black  eyes  and  warm,  white  skin  and  long,  black 
hair  and  a  very  tall,  elegant  figure.  All  her  words 
are  low  and  musical ;  all  her  ways  are  slow  and 
graceful.  She  makes  you  wish  to  be  quiet  and  sleepy, 
and  I  should  think  a  New  Yorker  would  enjoy  the 
simple  opiate  of  her  presence.  Now,  father,  I  am 
going  to  amaze  you."  And  she  put  down  her  cup 
and  looked  with  a  smile  into  his  expectant  face.  "  I 
am  engaged  to  be  married." 

"  Nonsense,  Bessie  !" 

"  The  truth,  father.  I  met  a  Mr.  John  Newton  on 
the  steamer,  and  he  fell  in  love  with  me  ;  and  then 
he  asked  me  to  fall  in  love  with  him.  He  said  he 
knew  you  would  be  quite  satisfied  with  his  position." 

"  He  is  an  impudent,  conceited  jackanapes,  who 
ever  he  may  be !" 

"  Any  man  has  to  be  impudent  in  order  to  ask  a  girl 
to  marry  him.  For,  with  all  his  impudence,  John 
really  trembled  when  he  asked  me.  He  was  so  afraid 
I  would  say :  '  No.'  But  I  did  not.  I  said  if  you 
would  say  :  '  Yes,'  I  would  say  :  '  Yes  ;'  and  so  he  is 
coming  to  ask  you." 


1 68  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Bessie,  my  dear,  all  this  is  nonsense.  You  are 
too  young  to  marry  any  one.  Even  if  you  had 
thought  of  your  cousin  Alphonse,  I  should  have  in 
sisted  on  two  years'  delay." 

"  I  dare  say  John  will  wait  two  years. " 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  '  will.'  Now,  you  have 
.spoiled  my  breakfast !  When  is  this  person  coming 
to  see  me  ?" 

"  I  told  him  to  wait^,  week  or  ten  days.  I  said  I 
would  send  a  letter  to  him,  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel,  at  the  right  time.  I  want  the  house  in  order, 
and  I  want  some  new  dresses.  I  think  he  is  a  very 
fine  gentleman,  indeed." 

"  You  can  tell  him  to  come  to  my  office  ;  I  will  see 
liim  there." 

They  were  his  parting  words,  and  he  spoke  them 
more  sternly  than  usually.  But  Bessie  was  not 
troubled.  She  congratulated  herself  upon  getting 
the  confession  over  so  well. 

"  Some  girls  would  have  put  it  off  and  off,"  she 
thought,  "and  had  a  worry  and  a  headache,  and 
perhaps  made  a  mess  of  the  whole  affair.  Father 
will  get  used  to  the  idea  before  he  sees  John,  and 
then  John  will  slip  into  his  place  quite  nat 
urally." 

Evidently  Bessie  was  not  far  wrong  in  her  sup 
position.  Mr.  Madison  thought  of  the  confidence 
his  daughter  had  given  him  all  day,  and  his  first 
words  in  the  evening  referred  to  it. 

"  I  dare  say  my  little  girl  loves  this  strange  man 
better  than  her  father  already  !" 

"  Tears  were  in  his  eyes  as  he  clasped  her  cheeks 
"between  his  hands  and  waited  for  a  reply. 

"  I  can  love  John  more  and  more  every  day  and 


Bessie  s  Confidences.  1 69 

never  love  you  one  bit  less,  dear  father,"  she 
answered. 

"  Can  you  not  love  me  more  and  more  every 
day?" 

"  No  !  I  love  you  perfectly  now.  I  cannot  love 
you  any  more  when  you  have  already  all  my  heart. 
You  see  I  have  been  loving  you  for  nearly  nineteen 
years.  Poor  John  has  only  been  with  me  about  ten 
days." 

"  Poor  John  got  a  long1  way  in  ten  days — " 

"  Love  wears  the  seven-leagued  boots.  You  look 
weary,  father.  Surely  you  have  not  been  trying  to 
catch  Love?" 

"  I  have  had  lots  of  other  things  to  think  about.  I 
have  been  alone  for  nearly  three  weeks  again.  I 
cannot  tell  what  has  come  over  my  manager.  He 
has  taken  more  holidays  this  year  than  I  like.  His- 
absence  leaves  too  much  on  my  shoulders." 

"  Perhaps  he  is  in  love." 

"  Do  not  judge  the  whole  world  by  yourself,  Bes 
sie.  But  I  have  promised  him  a  share  in  the  busi 
ness,  and  I  must  keep  my  word  with  him.  That  will 
satisfy  his  desire  and  make  him  stick  to  the  office. 
It  will  indeed  be  necessary,  as  I  intend  to  spend  this 
summer  travelling  with  you." 

"Oh,  dear!  Am  I  to  go  away  again?  Let  us 
travel  in  New  York.  I  am  sure  there  are  as  many 
queer  places  here  as  in  London  or  any  other  foreign 
city." 

"  But  I  want  to  see  foreign  cities.  And  if  I  take 
you  to  Europe,  I  may  have  you  all  to  myself  for  a 
little  while  before  you-get  married.  I  think  I  have 
a  right  to  that." 

"  I  would  not  be  selfish,  father.     Selfishness  is  not 


1 70  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

a  bit  like  you.    Besides,  you  know  John  might  go  to 
Europe  also." 

"  Then  he  must  take  a  different  route.  I  saw  Doc 
tor  Carter  as  I  came  home,  and  he  says  Amber  is 
not  very  well.  His  brother  Will  was  with  him.  You 
never  saw  Will,  did  you  ?" 

"  No.  Amber  kindly  thought  I  might  possibly  be 
good  enough  for  Will's  wife.  I  should  not  think  of 
aspiring  so  high,  for  Will  Carter's  goodness  is  quite 
proverbial." 

Then  she  turned  the  conversation  upon  the  im 
provements  she  wished  made  in  the  house,  and  after 
dinner  Mr.  Madison  went  through  every  room  with 
her. 

"It  shall  be  as  perfect  as  possible  before  next 
winter,"  he  said.  "  You  will  not  really  make  your 
dtbut  before  then.  In  two  months  we  shall  be  away, 
and  the  workmen  can  take  possession.  Have  you 
seen  Doctor  Carter's  house  ?  Would  you  like  your 
drawing-rooms  like  Amber's?" 

"Nothing  at  all  like  them.  I  want  mine  to  be 
unique  and  rather  startling.  I  shall  go  to  the  Astor 
Library  and  look  through  all  their  big  books  of  in 
terior  decorations.  Mrs.  Starit  got  her  queer,  splendid 
ideas  there — or  rather,  her  decorator  did.  I  have 
sense  enough  to  make  my  own  selections.  When  I 
have  done  so,  you  can  come  and  look  at  them.  What 
kind  of  an  idea  is  that,  father  ?" 

"  A  very  good  one." 

"  Then  to-morrow  I  will  begin  to  carry  it  out — that 
is,  if  Amber  calls  early." 

"  I  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant  visit.  Some  one 
was  saying  that  Amber  was  '  a  little  difficult '  since 
her  marriage." 


Bessie  s  Confidences.  171 

"  We  shall  get  along.  New  Yorkers  never  quar 
rel  ;  they  only  say  disagreeable  things  in  the  most 
agreeable  manner.  It  comes  natural  to  us.  Only 
English  women  tell  truths  to  each  other.  Then 
they  never  forgive  the  things  said,  but  have  a  nice, 
comfortable,  steady  quarrel  that  lasts  them  as  long 
as  they  live.  New  Yorkers  have  no  time  for  that 
kind  of  amusement.  We  forgive  each  other  our 
trespasses  every  night.  Amber  and  I  start  fairly 
to-morrow,  unless  I  should  have  an  unpleasant 
dream  about  her.  Father,  suppose  I  write  to  John 
and  ask  him  to  take  dinner  with  us  to-morrow 
night  ?" 

"  I  thought  you  said  ten  days  ?" 

"  Is  there  any  use  in  putting  off  a  pleasure  ?  John 
will  come  whenever  I  ask  him,  and  then  you  can 
talk  with  him  about  me.  It  will  be  so  much  nicer 
to  have  the  thing  settled  and  done  with." 

"  I  will  see  him  in  my  office." 

"  I  do  not  like  to  be  talked  about  in  the  office,  as 
if  I  were  '  business.'  I  think  he  had  better  come  to 
dinner  to-morrow,  eh,  father?"  and  she  emphasized 
the  request  with  a  caress,  that  the  doting  father 
could  not  refuse. 

"You  get  your  own  way  with  me  always,  Bes 
sie.  Do  you  expect  this  '  John  '  to  be  as  complacent 
to  you?" 

"  I  have  begun  in  the  right  way.  That  is  some 
thing.  I  will  write  for  John,  and  you  will  see  how 
readily  he  will  obey  me." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   NEW   PARTNER. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  thy  thought, 

O  maiden  fair  and  young  ? 
There  is  such  a  pleasure  in  thy  eyes, 

Such  music  on  thy  tongue  ! 
There  is  such  glory  on  thy  face  ; 

What  can  the  meaning  be  ? 
"  I  love  my  love,  because  I  know 

My  love  loves  me !"  —Charles  Mackay. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  go  to  see  Bessie  Madison  this 
morning." 

Doctor  Carter  was  reading  an  article  in  the  Lancet 
and  did  not  hear  the  remark.  So  Will  answered  for 
him. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  go  with  you,  Amber?" 

"  No.  Bessie  is  so  moody.  She  might  be  glad  to 
see  you,  and  again  she  might  not.  Under  any  cir 
cumstances  she  is  sure  to  be  provoking." 

"  Oh  !     That  is  saying  a  great  deal." 

"  She  has  been  in  Texas  all  winter,  and  she  has 
doubtless  come  back  with  the  fixed  idea  that  the 
heart  of  the  world  beats  under  the  Texan  prairies." 

"  Then  I  shall  go  and  take  Miss  Radway  to  the 
museum." 
[172] 


The  New  Partner.  175. 

"  If  you  like  that  kind  of  a  girl,  take  her  by  all 
means." 

"  She  is  very  clever.  Mrs.  Abel  Theyer  has  re 
quested  her  to  give  a  parlor  lecture  on  the  Eliza 
bethan  poets." 

"  I  heard  her  talking  about  Pope  and  Goldsmith. 
She  said  they  were  mere  rhymsters,  whose  effu 
sions  would  now  go  into  any  editor's  waste-basket. 
She  is  proud  to  be  the  exponent  of  The  Present.  I 
rather  think  she  considers  her  own  existence  would 
have  been  impossible  in  any  less  cultured  era." 

"  Still  we  must  do  her  justice.  She  does  leave 
Homer  and  Virgil  and  even  Shakespeare  on  their 
pedestals.  And  she  does  admit  that  New  York,  in 
point  of  culture,  has  really  proved  better  than  her 
expectations." 

Amber  laughed,  and  then  asked,  with  a  pretty  air 
of  scorn  : 

"  What  can  she  know  of  Jerusalem,  she  being  a 
Samaritan?" 

"  Which,  being  interpreted,  means,  what  can  she 
know  of  New  York,  she  being  a  Bostonian  ?  She 
gave  me  a  very  good  description  of  New  York,  how 
ever — '  a  city  made  straight ;  idealized  after  Euclid  ; 
without  character  or  expression.'  " 

"New  York  suits  New  Yorkers.  We  like  our 
streets  straight.  With  all  our  traffic  and  business,  it 
is  hard  work  to  keep  straight  streets  clean.  How 
should  we  manage  with  crooked  ones  ?" 

"  What  are  you  saying  about  dirty  streets  ?"  queried 
the  doctor,  throwing  down  his  paper  and  turning  to 
his  breakfast.  "  Our  streets  are  dirty.  They  are  a 
disgrace  to  the  city.  They  are  responsible  for  much 
of  the  sickness  of  all  kinds  that — " 


1 74  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Robert,  dear,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"  I  beg  pardon.     What  were  you  talking  about  ?" 

"  Miss  Radway.  You  said  you  met  her  at  Gen 
eral  Dixon's." 

"A  very  clever  person.  She  gave  me  the  history 
of  the  Woman's  Rights  Movement  in  a  very  clear, 
succinct  manner.  I  was  astonished  at  the  advances 
already  made.  If  it  goes  on,  we  may  all  live  to  vote 
for  a  woman  as  President." 

"Then, "said  Amber,  "we  must  change  the  em 
blem  of  the  Republic.  The  thunder-grasping  eagle 
will  turn  out  to  be  a  hen,  after  all." 

She  made  the  remark  with  an  apparent  serious 
ness  that  was  very  laughable  ;  and  the  doctor  and 
Will  not  only  laughed  heartily,  but  tossed  the  idea 
to  and  fro  until  it  was  laughed  out,  and  Ambrosia 
said : 

"  That  is  enough  of  Miss  Radway.  To  talk  about 
her  is  very  small  talk  indeed.  I  will  go  back  to  my 
first  position.  I  ought  to  call  upon  Cousin  Bessie 
this  morning ;  and  if  I  go  there  I  must  ask  her  to 
dinner.  She  has  really  never  seen  our  house  yet. 
Of  course,  the  dinner  will  have  to  be  a  very  small, 
quiet  affair.  What  night  will  you  be  at  liberty, 
Robert?" 

"  My  dear,  dear  Amber,  I  have  not  a  single  night 
to  spare.  Young  girls  will  not  care  whether  I  am 
present  or  not.  Will  is  ready  to  take  my  place,  I 
know." 

"  I  want  you,  Robert.  Girls,  more  than  any  other 
class,  expect  to  see  a  wife  with  her  husband.  Middle- 
aged  men  and  women  would  understand  that  you 
liad  your  profession  to  attend  to  ;  girls  think  a  hus* 
band  ought,  first  of  all,  to  attend  to  his  wife.  If  you 


The  New  Partner.  175 

are  not  at  my  side,  Bessie  will  be  sure  we  have  been 
quarreling,  or  that  at  least  you  do  not  care  for  me." 

"  But  just  now,  my  dear,  when  my  duties  are 
drawing  to  their  conclusion  and  my  investigations 
to  their  results,  I  cannot  possibly  leave  them  an  un 
necessary  hour." 

"  You  mean  that  you  do  not  wish  to  leave  them. 
My  pleasure  is  of  no  consequence.  I  am  not  a  germ 
of  any  kind."  And  she  left  the  room  with  an  air  of 
injury  that  was  painful  enough. 

No  one  likes  to  be  made  to  feel  as  if  he  were  cruel 
and  unjust,  and  the  doctor  turned  to  his  brother  and 
said  fretfully : 

"  Whatever  must  I  do,  Will  ?  How  can  I  leave  the 
most  serious  and  important  work  to  chatter  to  half  a 
dozen  school-girls  ?  It  is  cruel  to  ask  me." 

"  Robert,  you  waste  a  great  deal  of  time  doing 
work  some  clever  young  man  could  do  for  you.  Get 
a  secretary." 

"  Amber  is  so  unreasonable." 

"  Dear  me !  I  wish  some  lovely  woman  would 
only  be  unreasonable  about  me !  Get  a  secretary, 
Robert,  and  do  not  worry  and  work  yourself  to 
death.  Let  me  advertise  for  one  this  morning.  I 
must  tell  you  a  little  truth :  You  also  have  been  cross 
and  unreasonable  sometimes  lately." 

"  Truth  used  to  live  at  the  bottom  of  a  well,"  an 
swered  the  doctor,  with  a  touch  of  anger,  "but  she 
is  now  a  man's  wife  and  his-  brother  and  gives  him 
her  candid  opinion  on  his  own  hearthstone.  But  do 
as  you  like,  Will !  Advertise  by  all  means  if  you 
think  young  men  capable  of  doing  my  work  are 
plentiful." 

"You  saw  how  grieved  Amber  was?" 


1 76  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  She  is  always  grieved." 

"  Very  often  she  is  delightful.  You  know  she  is 
not  quite  well,  Robert." 

"  All  right,  and  I  am  wrong.  Advertise,  Will,  if 
you  think  it  will  give  me  more  time.  Amber  ought 
to  know  how  full  of  interest  my  work  is  to  me  at 
present." 

"  It  is  a  wise  wife  who  knows  her  husband,  Robert. 
Amber  loves  you  better  than  she  understands  you. 
Is  not  love  more  than  knowledge  ?  Shall  I  advertise 
for  a  secretary?" 

"  If  you  wish.  I  do  not  see  how  any  one  can  do 
my  work." 

"  But  you  would  not  dislike  one  ?" 

"  The  subject  is  quite  indifferent  to  me." 

As  if  the  entrance  of  a  strange  human  being  into 
any  home  could  be  indifferent !  As  if  the  crossing 
of  a  threshold,  even  by  a  servant  girl,  was  not  often 
fraught  with  the  most  tremendous  consequences ! 
For  who  can  tell  what  evil  or  good  fortune,  what 
conditions  of  weal  or  woe,  of  joy  or  sorrow,  of  life  or 
death,  enter  a  family  with  some  apparently  insignifi 
cant  man  or  woman  ?  Where  an  evil  angel  cannot 
go,  he  may  send ;  and  the  old  divine  who  every  morn 
ing  at  his  closed  door  prayed  :  "  Lord,  be  Thou  my 
Porter  this  day  and  suffer  nothing  that  can  injure 
me  or  mine  to  cross  this  threshold,"  had  a  clearer 
divination  of  safe  living  than  perhaps  he  himself 
understood. 

Will,  who  was  generally  thoughtful,  did  not  in  this 
case  send  his  fears  so  far  ahead.  It  was  Mr.  Madi 
son,  who  that  morning  gave  place  to  some  very  un 
usual  reflections  of  a  similar  tendency  :  "  It  is  nearly 
nine  years  since  the  boy  came  to  me  and  I  took  him 


The  New  Partner.  177 

to  my  heart  aud  sent  him  to  college  and  then  in 
itiated  him  into  the  secrets  of  my  business.  And 
now,  it  seems,  he  has  secretly  won  my  Bessie's  heart 
and  my  daughter,  and  my  money  will  eventually  be 
his.  Well !  Well !  Men  plan  and  labor  and  rise 
early  and  work  late  and  eat  the  bread  of  carefulness 
and  know  not  for  what  strange  man  or  woman  they 
may  be  toiling.  Still  it  might  have  been  worse — it 
might  have  been  much  worse." 

He  entered  his  office  with  a  heart  troubled  by 
such  considerations,  and  his  eyes  fell  at  once  upon  a 
very  handsome  young  man.  He  was  examining  the 
mail,  but  he  threw  down  the  letter  in  his  hand  and 
swung  his  chair  round  to  face  Mr.  Madison. 

"  Uncle,  good  morning !"  he  cried,  with  a  radiant 
face.  "  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again !" 

"  Good  morning,  John.  I  expected  you  yesterday." 

"  I  did  reach  New  York  yesterday,  but  I  had  to  go 
to  my  tailor's,  and  he  kept  me  a  long  time,  and  then 
I  had  a  little  shopping  to  do,  and  before  I  was  aware 
the  day  was  practically  over." 

"  Where  have  you  been,  John  ?" 

"  To  Texas." 

"  To  see  your  father  at  last  ?" 

"  No.  I  went  only  as  far  as  Galveston.  I  came 
home  with  my  cousin  Bessie." 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  let  Bessie  tell  me  that.  I 
have  found  you  out,  John  ;  but  I  would  rather  you 
had  been  perfectly  frank  with  me.  I  do  not  like 
anything  secret,  especially  about  Bessie." 

"  I  intended  to  tell  you  everything  as  soon  as  we 
met  to-day.  Do  not  look  cross,  uncle.  There  is  noth 
ing  wrong,  I  assure  you.  You  see  I  have  loved  Bessie 
ever  since  she  was  ten  years  old." 


i  78  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  That  is  a  lover's  imagination." 
"  No.  The  very  day  I  came  here  you  showed  me 
a  picture  of  Bessie  which  you  had  just  received.  It 
is  in  the  drawer  of  your  desk  now.  Every  few  months 
you  received  a  fresh  one,  and  sooner  or  later  you  al 
ways  showed  them  to  me.  I  loved  every  picture 
better.  You  promised  last  year  that  when  Bessie 
came  from  school  I  should  meet  her,  and  while  I  was 
eagerly  looking  forward  to  this  joy  you  told  me 
father  was  in  trouble  and  that  Bessie  was  going  to 
Texas  for  the  winter." 

"  She  went  immediately,  as  you  know,  on  her  re 
turn  from  Europe.  There  was  no  time  to  introduce 
you  then,  John." 

"  But  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  Alphonse  and 
James  meeting  her  before  I  had  any  opportunity  to 
say  a  word  for  myself.  Alphonse,  whether  inten 
tionally  or  not,  has  always  stood  between  father  and 
myself.  I  had  left  to  him  and  James  all  of  love  and 
land  there  might  be.  They  had  my  only  sister,  and  I 
could  not  endure  the  thought  of  the  dear  little  girl 
I  loved  going  under  their  influence  without  a  word 
for  myself.  Would  you  have  liked  it  ?" 

"  Perhaps  I  would  not,  John.  I  suppose  all  strata 
gems  are  lawful  in  love." 

"  Surely  you  are  not  angry,  uncle.  Am  I  not  as 
worthy  as  Alphonse  or  James  ?" 

"  That  was  not  then  the  question  in  any  shape. 
Bessie's  mother  died  of  consumption,  and  I  think 
Bessie  ought  to  spend  the  winters  South.  A  home 
in  Texas  is  a  great  deal  better  than  one  in  Florida. 
And  there  was  the  old  home  !  It  ought  to  have  been 
mine,  and  I  had  an  opportunity  to  make  it  Bessie's. 
This  business  will  eventually  be  yours.  How  then 


The  New  Partner.  179 

could  you  have  spent  half  the  year  in  Texas  ?  But 
we  will  not  discuss  the  business  side  of  the  question 
at  present.  Bessie  has  doubtless  written  you  a  let 
ter.  She  wants  you  to  take  dinner  with  us,  and  I 
think  you  had  better  leave  me  alone  to-day.  I  will 
meet  you  at  my  house  about  seven  to-night." 

"  Let  me  go  through  the  mail  for  you,  uncle." 

"  No.  I  want  to  be  alone.  When  some  young 
man  has  just  taken  your  daughter  from  you,  John, 
you  will  remember  this  hour  and  understand  '  why ' 
I  wish  to  be  alone,  with  more  business  to  do  than  I 
can  well  manage.  Say  nothing  of  our  relationship 
to  Bessie.  It  will  come  out  naturally  during  the 
evening." 

"  But  you  are  not  angry,  dear  uncle  ?" 

"  Oh,  no !     No  !     It  is  all  right." 

Then  John,  a  little  reluctantly,  rose  and  went 
away.  He  was  so  slow  in  leaving  that  Mr.  Madison 
looked  up  a  little  impatiently.  The  young  man  could 
not  understand  his  uncle's  mood.  Yet  it  was  a  very 
natural  one.  The  loser  does  not  care  to  discuss  his 
loss ;  it  is  the  winner  who  desires  to  talk  over  every 
detail  of  his  success. 

About  noon,  Mr.  Madison  had  a  thought  which 
made  him  smile.  He  had  been  somber  enough,  but 
this  thought  let  a  cheery  light  in  upon  his  gloomy 
reflections.  He  loved  a  pleasant  joke,  and  he  saw 
his  way  to  giving  Bessie,  as  he  thought,  a  surprising 
denouement.  With  twinkling  eyes  he  drew  a  sheet 
of  paper  under  his  hand  and  wrote  : 

"Mv  DEAR  LITTLE  GIRL:  I  am  going  to  bring  my  manager 
home  with  me.  I  have  to-day  decided  to  make  him  my  partner, 
and  I  want  to  talk  over  affairs  to-night  at  our  leisure.  Besides, 
I  owe  him  this  courtesy.  I  do  not  suppose  we  shall  interfere 


180  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

with  your  company.  But,  at  any  rate,  I  know  my  Bessie  will 
gladly  pleasure  me,  as  I  do  her.  I  will  be  at  home  at  seven. 
Have  the  best  dinner  possible  ready  for  our  guests. 

"Lovingly,  FATHER." 

Bessie  received  this  note  in  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon.  She  frowned  and  pouted  for  a  moment, 
but  she  was  too  good-natured  not  to  accept  the  posi 
tion  cheerfully. 

"  For,  after  all,"  she  thought,  "  father  gave  way  to 
my  wishes  very  graciously — considering  !  And  then 
it  will  be  delightful  to  make  myself  charming  to 
some  one  else  in  John's  presence.  John  can  observe 
me  better  than  when  I  am  talking  to  him  person 
ally.  Yes,  indeed ;  a  stranger  will  give  me  some 
excellent  opportunities  !  And  if  John  is  just  a  little 
jealous,  I  can  put  that  right  afterward.  When  din 
ner  is  over,  father  will  most  likely  take  his  new 
partner  to  the  library  ;  that  will  leave  John  and  me 
alone,  and  there  are  really  cases  in  which  two  are 
company  and  the  third  is  a  little  in  the  way.  I  sup 
pose  it  is  all  right !" 

And  she  went  about  finishing  her  light  household 
duties  with  a  happy  heart,  anticipating  nothing  but 
pleasure,  yet  feeling  adequate  for  any  disagreeable 
element  that  might  arise.  Young  as  she  was,  she 
had  the  native  capacity  for  management  almost 
characteristic  of  the  North  American  girl.  She  could 
give  an  order  with  a  steady  eye  and  a  decided  voice, 
and  her  servants  were  well  aware  that  their  disobe 
dience  would  be  followed  by  a  prompt  dismissal 
from  a  service  exceedingly  light  and  favorable. 
With  silent  promptness  they  followed  her  directions, 
and  the  rooms  were  in  exquisite  order  when  her 
father's  note  arrived.  She  had  written  to  John  hours 


The  New  Partner.  181 

before,  and  she  was  then  ready  to  attend  to  her  own: 
adornment. 

But  none  of  her  dinner  dresses  pleased  her  much.. 
She  turned  them  over  with  a  little  contempt  and  dis 
satisfaction.  Suddenly,  however,  a  bright  idea  re 
lieved  her  perplexity,  and  she  said  softly  to  the  little 
woman  within  her  : 

"  I  do  not  believe  John  knows  a  tea-gown  from  a. 
dinner-gown,  or  if  it  does  it  will  be  easy  enough  to 
confuse  him.  I  can  say  that  dresses  are  thus  and 
thus,  just  as  other  dresses  are  thus  and  thus  and  thus,. 
and  if  he  can  tell  how  or  why  or  wherefore  dresses 
come  to  be  thus  and  thus  and  thus  he  will  prove 
himself  to  be  a  much  smaller  man  than  I  take  him  to 
be.  And  the  tea-gown  I  bought  from  Madame  Francis 
is  chief  among  ten  thousand  and  altogether  lovely."' 

She  went  with  the  thought  to  her  wardrobe  and 
carefully  lifted  and  shook  out  the  soft  folds  of  the 
crepe  de  Chine.  The  color  was  pale  heliotrope,  and  it 
had  a  bodice  zouave  of  heliotrope  silk  in  a  double 
point,  covered  with  silver  embroidery,  to  which  a 
few  flowers  wrought  in  white  satin  gave  a  peculiarly 
rich  effect.  The  over-sleeves  were  also  in  embroid 
ered  silk,  edged  with  small  silver  tassels  falling 
over  the  long  sleeves  of  white  crfyc. 

And  crepe  de  Chine  is  such  an  ideal  material  that 
when  Bessie  had  robed  herself  in  this  exquisite  com 
bination  her  beauty  was  really  raised  to  the  level  of 
perfect  loveliness.  She  had  but  to  gather  a  few 
natural  white  and  purple  heliotrope  with  a  fringe  of 
maiden-hair  fern,  and  as  she  tied  them  together 
John's  card  was  brought  to  her. 

"  He  has  come  half  an  hour  too  soon.  That  is 
pretty  good.  Now  I  will  go  and  astonish  him  !" 


1 82  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

She  turned  herself  slowly  round  before  the  mir 
ror,  and  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  went  down-stairs. 
She  was  rather  pitying  John  as  she  went. 

"  For,  of  course,  a  man  cannot  dress  picturesquely 
unless  he  becomes  an  actor  for  the  sake  of  pictur 
esque  dressing,  and  I  would  not  wonder  if  many  a 
man  does  go  on  the  stage  for  that  very  reason,"  she 
reflected,  as  she  softly  stepped  down  the  long  stair 
way.  "  I  wonder  if  John  will  like  this  dress.  I 
wonder — " 

Then  she  was  in  the  drawing-room,  and  John  was 
telling  her  how  much  he  liked  it  and  how  lovely 
she  looked,  and  he  had  not  finished  this  explanation 
when  the  bell  rang  and  Bessie  said  : 

"That  is  father!  He  is  bringing  his  partner  to 
dinner  with  him.  We  must  be  nice  to  the  gentle 
man,  because  it  will  please  father." 

"  His  partner  !  I  did  not  know  there  was  a  part 
ner  in  the  firm." 

"  Father  made  him  a  '  partner '  this  afternoon.  I 
had  a  note  telling  me  so.  I  dare  say  he  will  be  a 
very  nice  old  gentleman." 

"Old  gentleman?  Then  you  have  never  seen 
him?" 

'•  He  has  never  been  at  the  house  before  ;  at  least 
not  when  I  was  at  home.  He  used  only  to  be 
*  manager.' " 

"  Oh,  he  used  to  be  manager !" 

"  Yes.  John,  I  do  hope  father  will  like  you  very 
much." 

"  He  may  perhaps  tolerate  me  for  your  sake.  You 
will  stand  by  me,  Bessie?" 

Bessie  was  assuring  her  lover  of  her  loyalty,  when 
she  heard  her  father's  footsteps.  She  listened  for 


The  New  Partner.  183 

those  of  his  companion,  but  ere  she  could  be  sure 
they  were  wanting,  Mr.  Madison  entered  the  room. 
Bessie  had  stepped  from  John's  side  to  a  table  hold 
ing  a  bowl  of  lilies  and  pansies,  and  she  appeared  to 
be  arranging  them.  In  a  moment's  glance,  she  saw 
that  her  father  was  alone,  and  his  kind  smile  quite 
reassured  her.  She  advanced  a  few  steps  to  meet 
him  as  he  approached.  John  stood  up,  and  she  was 
just  going  to  introduce  him,  when  Mr.  Madison  said, 
with  an  air  of  perfect  familiarity  : 

"  Well,  John,  I  wish  I  had  let  you  help  me  with 
the  mail.  It  was  a  pretty  heavy  one." 

Bessie's  glance  went  rapidly  from  one  to  the  other. 
She  understood  the  position  at  once.  The  whole  in 
cognito  flashed  upon  her  quick  intelligence.  But 
with  an  air  of  the  most  proper  conventionality,  she 
said : 

"  Father,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  introduce  to  you 
your  old  manager  and  your  new  partner,  Mr.  John 
Newton — Madison !" 

Her  charming  air  of  triumph  brought  both  men  to 
their  most  humble  apologies  and  explanations.  Mr. 
Madison's  were  not  long,  nor  yet  very  serious.  His 
attempted  little  surprise  was  a  natural  one  under  the 
circumstances.  He  had  simply  pleased  himself  with 
the  idea  of  showing  Bessie  that  her  brand-new  lover 
was  a  very  old  and  familiar  acquaintance  of  his. 
And  Bessie  had  felt  her  ability  to  add  "Madison  "  to 
Mr.  John  Newton's  name  to  be  a  full  quittance. 

John's  explanations  were  of  a  more  complicated 
and  lengthy  character.  They  required  three  hours 
of  privacy  to  make  them  fully  ;  that  is,  it  took  John 
one  hour  and  a  half  to  tell  Bessie  how  he  had  fallen 
in  love  with  her  photo  when  she  was  ten  years  old ; 


184  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

to  describe  every  subsequent  photo ;  the  dresses  in 
which  she  was  taken  ;  the  different  effects  that  seal 
skin  toques  and  Tuscan  broad-brims  and  sailor-hats 
had  upon  him ;  how  he  longed  to  kiss  her  in  her 
gymnasium  suit ;  and  to  walk  with  her  in  some 
jaunty  street-costume  ;  and  the  agonies  he  suffered 
when  he  saw  her  in  her  skating-dress,  and  thought 
of  some  other  person  buckling  on  her  skates  and 
helping  her  to  make  figures  on  the  ice.  And  as  Mr. 
Madison  had  been  accustomed  to  get  three  or  four 
photographs  every  year,  it  really  was  wonderful 
John — or  Jack,  as  Bessie  now  insisted  on  calling 
him — got  half  through  these  experiences  in  that 
time.  In  fact,  he  avowedly  left  a  great  many  for 
future  discussion ;  for  it  was  more  important  to 
describe  the  emotions  which  led  him  secretly  to  go 
with  her  to  Galveston  and  woo  her  without  reveal- 
ing  his  identity.  In  his  own  mind  he  had  gone  over 
this  explanation  so  often  that  he  had  his  argument 
well  prepared ;  and,  indeed,  so  well  arranged  that 
Bessie  was  delighted  with  the  romance  of  her 
courtship. 

As  for  the  business  part  of  the  engagement,  it  did 
not  come  up  at  all  for  a  hearing  that  night.  Mr. 
Madison  had  his  plans  all  ready,  but  the  lovers  were 
still  but  midway  in  their  hopes  and  fears  and  feel 
ings  when  the  evening  was  found  to  be  over.  Bessie 
was  then  describing  to  Jack  her  loyalty  to  him  under 
all  the  temptations  to  be  disloyal  which  the  hand 
some  men  of  Texas  offered  her.  And  this  was  such 
a  very  interesting  part  of  their  mutual  experiences 
to  Jack  that  Bessie  felt  it  ought  to  be  finished  as 
soon  as  possible.  Consequently  Jack  asked  for  the 
following  afternoon,  and  Mr.  Madison  thought,  as  a 


The  New  Partner.  185 

clearly  exceptional  thing,  the  afternoon  might  be 
spared. 

"  Because,  father,"  added  Bessie,  "  I  shall  rJe  sure 
to  have  a  call  from  Amber  in  the  morning.  She  sent 
me  word  she  was  sick  to-day,  but  would  see  me  in 
the  morning ;  so  I  shall  have  to  put  off  Jack  till  the 
afternoon.  I  cannot  help  it,  Jack." 

Bessie,  however,  was  very  well  pleased  that  Am 
ber  had  not  visited  her  that  day.  As  she  sat  before 
her  mirror,  removing  her  beautiful  garments,  she 
talked  to  herself  about  the  affair,  nodding  brightly 
to  her  satisfactory  thoughts  or  shaking  her  pretty 
head  at  the  points  where  dissent  seemed  proper. 

"  I  am  not  glad  that  Amber  was  sick  to-day.  I  am 
sorry,  of  course  ;  though  I  dare  say  Amber  was  put 
ting  on  a  little.  But  I  am  glad  I  did  not  see  her 
until  I  was  engaged — really  engaged."  And  she 
held  up  her  small  white  hand  and  watched  the  sparkle 
of  the  splendid  diamonds  which  sealed  the  love- 
promise.  "  It  is  a  simply  gorgeous  ring !"  she  ex 
claimed.  "  I  do  not  believe  Amber's  engagement- 
ring  was  half  so  splendid.  I  noticed  the  rings  on 
her  hands  when  she  was  last  here,  and  they  were 
not — very  much.  Now  she  can  offer  Mr.  Will  Carter 
to  some  other  girl.  The  idea  of  Amber  thinking  she 
could  choose  for  me  !  I  rather  think  Bessie  Madison 
can  do  her  own  marrying." 

Then  she  rose,  let  her  beautiful  gown  fall  from 
her  shoulders,  and  laid  it  carefully  away  in  its  proper 
folds.  When  this  duty  was  fully  done,  she  reverted 
again  to  her  monologue  : 

"  I  must  try  and  behave  nicely,  and  not  say  dis 
agreeable  things.  I  do  not  want  to  do  so — really,  I 
do  not — but  Amber  always  does  give  me  an  itching 


1 86  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

tongue.  Let  me  remember  what  madame  used  to 
impress  upon  us  every  day  and  every  hour  of  the 
day :  how  extremely  improper  was  any  allusion, 
however  slight,  which  was  calculated  to  give  any 
uneasiness,  however  trivial,  to  any  individual,  how 
disagreeable  or  foolish  he  might  be.  Poor  madame^ 
This  was  her  great  teaching.  Now  Amber  used  to 
be  just  a  little  spiteful,  and  she  may  be  yet.  One 
cannot  expect  wisdom  to  come  with  the  putting-on 
of  the  marriage  ring.  How  sleepy  I  am  !  I  will  not 
crimp  my  hair  to-night.  I  can  do  it  in  the  morning. 
I  wonder  if  it  would  be  wrong  to  miss  my  prayers 
to-night — just  once — my  engagement  night,  too !  I 
suppose  it  would  be  wicked.  I  had  better  say  them. 
If  I  do  not,  they  will  be  sure  to  wake  me  up.  Be 
sides,  I  am  so  happy  I  ought  to  be  very  glad  and 
grateful !  Certainly  I  ought." 

Then  with  a  sweet  intention  she  dismissed  all 
worldly  and  selfish  thoughts,  and  for  a  few  pure 
minutes  knelt  reverently  and  spoke  solemnly  the 
holy  formula  she  had  learnt  in  her  childhood.  Let 
no  one  smile  at  such  formulas,  for  while  maidens 
keep  their  child-hearts  they  repeat  them.  And 
blessed  are  they  to  whom  a  good  fortune  gives  a 
long  space  of  such  sinless  repetitions  !  For  when  a 
woman's  trials  and  a  woman's  pains  come,  then  the 
lot  of  woman  is  to  be  met,  then  sorrow  teaches  to 
pray,  then  the  form  becomes  the  dead-letter,  and  the 
heart  finds  out  the  hidden  speech  which  we  call 
prayer.  Oh,  happy  and  innocent  girls  !  "  Say  your 
prayers  "  with  gladness  of  heart,  for  it  will  be  in  some 
extremity  that  you  will  learn  how  "  to  pray" 


CHAPTER  XL 

AMBER   AS   FRIEND   AND   WIFE. 

But  whenever  a  soft  glance  softer  grows, 

And  the  light  hours  dance  to  the  trysting  time, 

And  the  secret  is  told  "  that  no  one  knows." 
Then,  hey,  for  the  ripple  of  laughing  rhyme  ! 

— Dobell. 

There  is  a  change  in  every  hour's  recall, 

And  the  last  cowslip  in  the  fields  we  see 
On  the  same  day  with  the  first  corn-poppy. 
Alas,  for  hourly  change  !     Alas,  for  all 
The  loves  that  from  his  hand  proud  youth  lets  fall, 
Even  as  the  beads  of  a  told  rosary.         — Rossetti. 

In  the  morning1  Ambrosia  came  early.  She  made 
her  health  the  excuse  for  not  calling  on  the  previous 
day;  but  women  seldom  deceive  each  other,  and 
Bessie  had  a  firm  conviction  that  her  cousin  had 
been  waiting  for  the  becoming  costume  of  black 
cloth  and  the  Watteau  coat  to  match,  which  she  evi 
dently  was  wearing  for  the  first  time  that  morning. 
She  looked  charming,  but  the  charm  was  less  owing 
to  her  garments  than  to  the  extreme  neatness  with 
which  all  her  toilet  was  finished  off.  It  was  a  rare 
completeness,  better  than  beauty.  Amber  was  satis- 

[187] 


1 88  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

factory  at  all  points.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  look  at 
her  well-arranged  hair,  her  figure,  her  hands,  feet, 
dress,  all  remarkable  for  a  finish,  owing  more  to  a 
cultivated  talent  than  to  a  natural  neat-handedness. 

"  She  came  in  with  less  effusiveness  and  more  dig 
nity  than  she  had  ever  before  assumed  with  Bessie, 
and  Bessie  met  the  mood  with  a  contradictious 
familiarity. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Amber !" 

"  And  how  well  you  look,  Bessie  !  And  what  do 
you  think  of  Texas  ?" 

"  It  is  a  lovely  country.  I  wish  you  could  see  its 
wide  prairies,  its  woods  and  rivers.  Nature  in  Texas 
is  on  such  a  grand  scale." 

"  I  have  heard  that.  Would  it  not  be  nice  if  we 
could  have  it  divided  into  sections  and  distributed 
about  the  other  States  ?  I  dare  say  New  York  would 
make  a  lordly  bid  for  a  section  of  rolling  prairie." 

"  Oh,  indeed !  The  Texans  would  not  spare  a 
square  foot  of  their  State.  But  I  am  glad  to  be  back 
in  New  York,  though  I  expect  to  go  away  again  in 
May.  Father  is  to  travel  with  me  this  time.  We 
shall  not  return  until  November." 

"  You  weary  me  with  the  thought  of  another  jour 
ney.  Sleeping  and  restaurant  cars  have  given  such 
an  air  of  comfortable  vulgarity  to  travel." 

"  But  you  took  a  long  European  marriage  trip, 
Amber." 

"  People  only  expect  to  do  that  kind  of  thing  once 
in  a  lifetime.  I  was  awfully  tired  of  railways  and 
electric-lighted  hotels.  I  think  if  I  were  a  Dante  of 
the  present  day  I  should  depict  my  enemies  in  a 
perpetual  round  of  tours — in  purgatory.  How  did 
you  like  your  Texan  relatives  ?" 


Amber  as  Friend  and  Wife.  189 

"  Very  much.  Uncle  Sam  Madison  is  a  fine  gentle 
man  ;  Cousin  Alphonse  is  like  him ;  and  Cousin 
James  is  such  a  very  superior  young  man  that  he  is 
a  source  of  constant  gratification  to  himself." 

"  And,  naturally,  of  constant  aggravation  to  less 
superior  mortals?" 

"  Yes.  And  yet  he  is  going  to  marry  a  nice  girl 
with  lots  of  land  and  money.  James  is  clever,  no 
doubt.  He  writes  poetry,  and  I  wish  you  could  see 
the  reams  of  paper  he  spills  himself  over." 

"  I  suppose  some  nice  girls  like  that  kind  of  a  man  ; 
just  as  others  like  photographs  of  really  fine  works 
of  art." 

"  Cousin  Louisa  is  very  handsome.  She  is  to  spend 
next  winter  in  New  York  with  me.  She  has  fine  eyes 
and  hair  and  a  captivating  carriage  and  manner." 

"  Then  she  will '  take.'  With  good  eyes  and  hair 
and  a  captivating  carriage  and  manner,  any  girl  is 
irresistible.  You  ought  to  be  grateful  for  such  pre 
sentable  relatives — relatives  rarely  are  sources  of 
pride  and  pleasure." 

"  I  should  like  my  relatives  under  any  circum 
stances,  just  because  they  are  mine." 

"  That  is  a  comfortable  thing,  because  relatives 
are  given,  and  must  be  taken  as  found.  We  can 
choose  our  friends.  But  if  you  only  think  of  it, 
Bessie,  how  very  few  people  would  like  to  put  all 
their  relatives  on  their  list  of  friends.  I  am  sure  I 
would  not.  I  suppose  a  good  many  Texan  lovers 
will  follow  you  to  New  York?" 

"  Not  one." 

"That  is  strange.  Really  you  must  have  lovers  in 
order  to  enjoy  life.  I  should  like  to  give  you  a  small 
dinner-party  next  Thursday.  Will  Carter  will  be 


190  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

present,  of  course,  and  young  Mortimer  Banks, 
Either  of  them  would  make  you  a  suitable  husband. 
Dinner  at  eight.  The  doctor  cannot  get  home  be 
fore.  You  will  come,  Bessie  ?" 

"If  Jack  is  willing." 

"  Jack !     Now,  pray,  who  is  '  Jack?'  " 

"  My  cousin,  Jack  Madison.  I  am  engaged  to  him. 
I  tell  you  because  I  do  not  want  Will  Carter  or 
Mortimer  Banks  to  put  on  airs  to  me.  I  am  not  going 
to  try  to  conquer  either  of  them." 

"  Then  there  is  another  cousin  !  And  you  are  going 
to  marry  him  ?  Is  your  father  willing?  Or  is  there 
some  delightful  romance  about  the  love  affair  ?  You 
can  trust  me  for  anything  in  such  a  case,  Bessie." 

"  Father  has  known  Jack  for  nine  years." 

"  I  never  heard  tell  of  such  a  thing." 

"  He  sent  him  to  college." 

"  Bessie !" 

"  And  he  has  been  in  business  with  father  for 
nearly  seven  years." 

"  You  take  my  breath  away." 

"  And  Jack  has  loved  me  ever  since  I  was  ten 
years  old." 

"  Don't  romance  too  much,  Bessie." 

"  It  is  a  stubborn  fact.  Jack  will  swear  to  it  if  you 
wish." 

Then  Bessie  told  Ambrosia  the  story  of  her  woo 
ing  and  told  it  very  prettily.  It  was  really  a  little 
city  idyl,  and  Ambrosia  listened,  with  a  tinge  of  an 
noyance  to  it.  Bessie — young,  beautiful  and  wealthy 
— had  been  quite  an  item  in  her  social  considera 
tions,  and  she  had  a  private  conviction  that  she  had 
intended  being  very  kind  to  her  unmarried  cousin. 
But  she  tried  to  feel  sympathetic,  and  at  any  rate  it 


Amber  as  Friend  and  Wife.  191 

was  easy  to  be  interested  and  to  show  that  interest 
in  an  excited  catechism. 

"  You  really  did  not  know  it  was  your  cousin  when 
you  met  him  on  the  Texas  steamer?" 

"  I  had  never  even  heard  this  cousin  named.  I 
supposed  him  to  be  simply  Mr.  John  Newton." 

"  And  your  father  did  not  know  he  had  gone  South 
with  you?" 

"  Father  thought  Jack  had  gone  West  with  a 
friend." 

"  And  you  found  out  that  John  Newton  was  John 
Newton  Madison  by  a  photo?" 

"  I  found  him  out  by  a  photo,  which  his  brother 
Alphonse  showed  me,  quite  incidentally." 

"  And  then  you  showed  this  photo  to  your  father  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  he  recognized  John." 

"  And  then  you  had  that  pretty  denouement  in  your 
parlor  !  I  declare  it  is  a  comic-opera  idea,  but  quite 
refreshing,  Bessie !  I  suppose  you  will  buy  your 
trousseau  in  Paris.  Who  will  help  you  ?" 

"  I  do  not  like  any  one  to  help  me  shop.  How  can 
even  two  women  be  of  one  mind  about  a  dress  or 
cloak  ?  But  I  will  tell  you  one  thing,  Amber  :  You 
are  wearing  a  beautiful  costume  this  morning,  a 
truly  covetable  dress.  I  do  wonder  how  you  manage 
to  make  all  your  skirts  hang  so  wonderfully  well  ?" 

"  I  insist  on  having  the  gores  in  the  under  skirt 
precisely  the  same  as  those  in  the  upper  one.  No 
modiste  will  cut  them  exactly  alike,  if  you  do  not 
insist  upon  it.  I  am  positively  strict  on  this  point. 
I  shall  ask  Miss  Radway  for  Thursday  night.  Do 
you  remember  her  ?" 

"  The  lady  who  lectured  at  our  school  sometimes 
to  us?" 


192  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"The  same.  She  is  going  to  be  an  old  maid, 
I  fear." 

"  It  is  not  her  fault.  It  is  entirely  owing  to  the 
bad  taste  of  men  that  pretty  girls  become  unlovely 
old  maids." 

"  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Curtis  admires  her,  and  he 
would  doubtless  make  her  a  good  husband.  Poor 
Ellen  Radway !" 

"Well,  then,  why  'poor'  Ellen  Radway?" 

"  Because  he  will  never  be  her  lover.  Ellen  is 
unselfish,  clever,  dutiful  and  reads  Emerson  and 
Ruskin.  Men  have  a  high  opinion  of  such  women, 
but  they  do  not  love  them.  Doctor  Carter  would 
never  have  married  a  too  clever  woman." 

"  Doctor  Carter  is  only  one  man  in  a  million  of 
men,  and  I  think  men  are  pretty  much  what  women 
make  them." 

"  I  am  sure  Doctor  Carter  could  not  be  '  made  '  by 
any  woman.  He  has  an  iron  will." 

" 'Pshaw  !  No  woman  attacks  a  man  through  his 
will.  She  throws  a  spell  over  his  judgment,  my  dear." 

"  Well,  I  know  one  thing,  if  girls  try  to  imitate 
the  sweet  womanly  household  angels  of  some  of  our 
novelists,  they  will  never  get  married.  The  old- 
fashioned  modest,  virtuous  girls  are  now  left  to  the 
solitary  enjoyment  of  their  own  virtues." 

"  Because,  as  Mrs.  Poyser  says,  'the  women  are 
made  to  match  the  men.'  Even  in  Texas,  it  was  the 
tailor-made,  cigarette-smoking,  fast-horse  riding, 
tennis-court  girl  that  was  never  without  '  followers.' 
When  I  told  father  about  Jack,  I  pointed  out  this 
kind  of  things  to  him,  and  he  finally  came  to  regard 
my  engagement,  before  going  into  any  society  at 
-all,  as  a  very  fortunate  thing." 


Amber  as  Friend  and  Wife.  193 

"  Bessie  !  Do  you  really  think  that  this  little  epi 
sode  about  Jack  and  the  photos  and  Jack  and  the 
Texas  trip  is  a  genuine  thing?  I  dare  say  your 
father  planned  the  whole  affair,  with  Jack  as  a 
fellow-conspirator.  He  showed  Jack  your  photos 
and  talked  about  you  to  him,  and,  of  course,  Jack 
had  a  sentimental  adoration  for  the  bits  of  cardboard 
and  the  lovely  girl  they  represented.  Then  your 
father  told  him  about  the  Texas  trip,  and  there  was 
a  tacit  understanding  between  them  that  Jack  should 
have  his  chance  for  your  heart  and  hand  before  his 
brothers.  Naturally,  your  father  would  desire  it ; 
and  I  think  his  little  plan  was  a  very  clever  one." 

"  Oh,  Amber  !  How  can  you  be  so  cruel !  You 
are  just  like  those  dreary  children  who  pull  their 
toys  to  pieces  to  see  how  they  are  made  and  what  is 
in  them  !" 

"  My  dear,  it  is  only  prudent  to  look  at  things  on 
their  probable  as  well  as  their  poetic  side." 

"  But  you  were  in  love  with  Doctor  Carter,  and 
there  must  have  been  a  poetic  side  to  your  engage 
ment." 

"  Certainly.  But  really  I  must  go  now. .  I  have  prom 
ised  to  lunch  with  Mrs.  Montgomery  McCartney." 

"  Goodness  !  Gracious  !  Do  you  lunch  with  Mrs.. 
Montgomery  McCarthey,  Amber?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  thought  they  were  so  very  tip  on  top.  How  did 
you  get  to  know  her?" 

"  Doctor  Carter  is  her  physician." 

"  And  doctors  enter  families  with  a  kind  of  private 
latch-key.  They  know  all  about  a  family — quite  as 
much,  I  should  say,  as  a  confessor  does." 

"  And  Doctor  Carter  is  as  dumb  as  a  confessional. 


194  Girls  of  a  Feather, 

He  never  tells  anything.  He  could  be  very  enter 
taining,  no  doubt,  if  he  chose." 

"  However,  you  must  tell  me  all  about  the  McCar 
tneys.  Is  it  not  a  fine  thing  to  visit  there  ?" 

Ambrosia  laughed  heartily  in  a  soft,  genuine  way. 
She  laid  her  head  back  against  the  cushioned  chair 
and  thoroughly  enjoyed  some  mirthful  memory. 
Bessie  was  a  little  wounded. 

"Why  do  you  laugh,  Amber?"  she  asked.  •' Am 
I  absurd  in  any  way  ?" 

"  No  !  No,  Bessie  !  I  had  a  sudden  remembrance 
of  something  very  funny  about  the  McCartheys.  At 
the  beginning  of  this  season,  as  we  were  at  break 
fast  one  morning,  the  doctor  read  aloud  from  the 
daily  paper  this  notice  : 

"'Mr.  Montgomery  McCarthey,  Mrs.  Montgomery  McCar 
tney  and  Miss  Melita  McCarthey  have  arrived  in  New  York  for 
the  season.' 

"  It  seemed  to  strike  Will  in  the  most  ridiculous 
way,  and  he  laughed  so  immoderately  that  the  doc 
tor  asked  him  for  an  explanation.  Will  said  the 
notice  reminded  him  in  a  moment  of  Mike  Sulli 
van's  account  of  a  great  Crimean  battle.  Do  you 
know  what  I  mean,  Bessie  ?" 

"  Of  course  not.  I  never  even  heard  of  Mike 
Sullivan.  Was  he  a  great  general  ?" 

"  This  was  how  Mike  Sullivan  described  the  bat 
tle  :  '  So  the  commander-in-chief  rides  up,  as  the 
army  stood  in  line  of  battle,  and  he  calls  out :  "  Is 
Mike  Sullivan  in  the  ranks?"  "I  am,  general,"  says 
I,  stepping  forward.  "Then  let  the  engagement 
commence,"  says  he.'  Will  told  this  story  with  all 
the  impudence  of  the  Irish  brogue,  and  then  added  : 
*Mr.  Montgomery  McCarthey  and  Mrs.  Mont- 


Amber  as  Friend  and  Wife.  195 

gomery  McCarthey  and  Miss  Melita  McCarthey 
have  arrived  in  New  York  for  the  season.  Capital ! 
Let  the  season  commence  /'  I  never  laughed  so 
heartily  in  my  life  !  Will  has  a  charming  way  of 
saying  such  things — so  comical  and  yet  not  a  bit 
ill-natured.  There  was  no  occasion,  for  we  were 
invited  to  the  ball  with  which  the  McCartheys 
opened  the  season." 

"  Did  you  go  ?" 

"  Yes.  It  was  a  very  fine  affair.  I  think  it  really 
did  open  the  season." 

"  What  did  you  wear  ?" 

"  A  dress  made  for  me  in  Paris  a  few  weeks  pre 
viously.  The  train  is  of  amber  velvet,  lined  with 
amethyst  satin  and  trimmed  with  Venetian  point. 
The  dress  of  white  brocade  has  small  sprigs  of  gold 
and  amethyst,  and  the  slippers  are  of  white  satin 
embroidered  in  gold." 

"  Pointed  toes,  of  course  ?" 

"Very  pointed.  I  certainly  suffer  from  pointed 
toes  ;  but,  oh,  how  hideous  square  ones  are  !" 

"  You  must  have  looked  lovely  in  white  and  gold 
and  amethyst.  You  must  have  looked  like  an  Edition 
de  luxe  of  a  book  of  poems.  I  never  was  at  a  real 
ball.  I  should  like  to  be  invited  to  one." 

"  You  miss  little,  Bessie.  It  is  only  a  flutter  of 
ladies  all  in  a  glitter  with  jewels,  trailing  their 
rustling  garments  after  them.  Some  are  peacocking 
proudly,  with  their  chins  in  the  air ;  others  are  per 
haps  gently  and  indolently  quiet,  like  children  in 
their  Sunday  clothes,  trying  to  be  as  nice  as  they 
are.  The  usual  way  with  most  people  is  to  be  tak 
ing  themselves  at  a  high  valuation  and  their  neigh 
bors  at  a  low  one.  All  the  dresses  are  alike  fashion. 


196  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

able.  There  is  the  same  twittering  conversation  and 
the  same  abundance  of  diamonds." 

"  It  sounds  very  nice,  Amber." 

"  Now  I  must  go,  for  you  know  I  have  a  large 
household  on  my  hands.  And  a  house  will  not  take 
care  of  itself  ;  and  servants  will  not  work  spontane 
ously  ;  and  dinners  will  not  come  without  ordering ; 
though  I  declare  some  men  have  a  general  idea  that 
things  are  so  arranged.  On  Thursday,  then,  I  shall 
expect  you  and  Jack,  to  whom  I  will  send  an  invi 
tation.  It  will,  of  course,  be  only  a  very  quiet  little 
dinner — in  fact,  a  simple  family  party,  being  in 
mourning." 

"  Of  course.     Poor  Uncle  Ambrose  !" 

"  It  was  a  great  release  for  him,  Bessie.  The  loss 
is  ours." 

"  I  understand  that." 

"  On  Thursday,  then — if  convenient." 

"It  will  be  so,  I  am  sure." 

"  Then  good-bye,  dear,  for  the  present." 

A  slight  shadow  settled  on  Bessie's  face  when  she 
was  left  alone.  She  sat  down  and  dropped  her  hands 
on  her  knees  and  her  eyes  upon  her  hands.  Her 
young  heart  was  troubled.  What  if  Amber's  sug 
gestion  was  true  and  her  pretty  romance  turned  out 
to  be  a  carefully  laid  plot  ?  Amber's  reasoning  was 
at  least  plausible  and  possible.  She  felt  that  if  things 
were  according  to  Amber,  nothing  would  ever  again 
be  quite  the  same  to  her.  She  had  half  an  hour  of 
genuine  suffering ;  then  in  a  moment  her  face  bright 
ened,  and  she  nodded  her  head  emphatically  to  the 
thought  which  had  dispelled  her  anxiety. 

"  The  straight  way  to  anything  is  the  best  way.  I 
will  ask  father  and  John  if  Amber's  suggestion  has 


Amber  as  Friend  and  Wife.  197 

any  truth  in  it.  If  they  say :  '  No,'  that  is  the  end 
of  the  matter.  I  will  believe  father  and  John  against 
the  whole  world,  if  it  was  necessary." 

She  made  this  declaration  with  some  temper,  and 
then  went  impulsively  to  her  piano  and  began  to 
play — at  first,  rapid,  rattling  melodies,  and  then,  as 
the  tide  of  annoyance  ran  backward,  sweet  little  love- 
ditties  that  she  was  practicing  solely  for  Jack's  bene 
fit.  One  of  these  had  come  to  her  by  mail  at  the  New 
Year,  and  she  now  was  sure  that  Jack  had  sent  it  to 
her.  At  the  time,  she  had  given  her  father  credit 
for  the  remembrance,  because  she  then  imagined 
Jack  to  be  in  Mexico ;  but  now  she  had  hunted  it 
from  among  her  loose  music  and  began  to  study  its 
pretty  words  and  melodious  measure. 

"  It  is  such  a  pretty  New  Year's  song,"  she  said, 
"  and  it  was  kind  in  Jack  to  think  of  it."  And  she 
began  to  sing  with  that  frank  satisfaction  which  a 
taking  melody  imparts : 

"  If  I  could  find  the  Little  Year, 

The  Happy  Year,  the  glad  New  Year — 

If  I  could  find  him  setting  forth 
To  seek  the  ancient  track  ; 

I  'd  bring  him  here,  the  Little  Year, 
Like  a  peddler  with  his  pack. 

"  And  all  of  golden  brightness, 

And  nothing  dull  or  black, 
And  all  that  heart  could  fancy, 

And  all  that  heart  could  lack, 
Should  be  your  share  of  the  peddler's  ware, 

When  he  undid  his  pack." 

And  the  song  took  her  captive,  and  she  went  about 
all  day  with  it  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  ;  and  when 


198  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

her  father  came  home  she  challenged  him  with  send 
ing  her  the  wish  for — 

"  All  the  golden  brightness, 

And  nothing  dull  or  black, 
And  all  that  heart  could  fancy, 
And  all  that  heart  could  lack — " 

and  found  him  so  patently  innocent  that  she  was 
able  definitely  to  accuse  Jack  of  the  musical  New 
Year's  greeting,  and  to  confessedly  find  him  the 
right  person. 

Perhaps  Ambrosia  really  did  not  intend  to  spoil 
her  cousin's  love-dream.  She  was  not  sure  of  her 
motive  when  she  examined  it.  She  could  only  say : 

"  It  was  a  pity  to  undeceive  her.  But,  of  course, 
her  father  knew  all  about  it.  Nobody  would  believe 
differently,  and  it  would  have  been  too  absurd  if  she 
had  told  such  a  story  to  any  one  but  me.  And  she 
was  so  offensively  conceited  about '  Jack,'  and  needed 
to  have  a  little  of  her  sail  taken  in,  I  am  sure. 
People's  courting  experiences  ought  not  to  be  told  ; 
but  then,  as  Punch  says,  '  " Ought"  stands  for  "  noth- 
ing.""; 

Yet,  in  spite  of  this  decided  opinion,  Ambrosia  at 
once  repeated  her  cousin's  romance  to  Will  Carter. 
The  night  was  a  very  stormy  one,  and  Will  came 
into  the  drawing-room  before  dinner  and  found  Am 
brosia  sitting  there  in  a  very  dissatisfied  temper. 
She  told  him  the  story  in  a  dull,  monotonous  man 
ner,  and  asked  in  conclusion  : 

"  Can  you  imagine  a  New  York  girl  being  such  a 
little  fool  as  to  believe  in  an  arrangement  so  partic 
ularly  transparent?" 

"  Yes,  I  can.     There  are  girls  in  New  York  who 


Amber  as  Friend  and  Wife.  199 

tarry  in  Arcadia  willingly,  and  who  have  no  desire 
to  shake  the  last  apple  off  the  tree  of  knowledge — 
sweet,  guileless  maidens,  who  believe  every  word 
tfieir  fathers  and  mothers  and  lovers  say.  I  wish 
with  all  my  heart  I  could  find  one  who  would  listen 
to  me.  I  am  sure  I  would  believe  anything  improb 
able  she  chose  to  tell  me." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  both  Will  and  Am- 
brosia  looked  silently  into  the  fire.  Presently  Am- 
brosia  said  in  a  weary  voice  : 

"  It  is  long  after  dinner-time.  I  suppose  Robert 
is  not  coming  home  to  dinner.  It  is  very  cruel 
of  him." 

"  Robert  is  so  busy,  Amber.  I  wish  I  could  make 
you  understand  how  much  he  has  to  do." 

"  He  need  not  do  so  much." 

"  One  engagement  leads  to  another — in  fact, 
demands  another.  He  must  attend  to  all  or  give  up 
all.  I  advertised  to-day  for  an  assistant  for  him." 

"  Will  that  make  any  difference?" 

"  Amber,  my  dear  sister,  you  must  not  permit 
yourself  to  say  such  things,  because  saying  them 
might  in  time  really  influence  you,  and  if  there  is 
one  thing  sure  in  this  world  it  is  that  Robert  Carter 
loves  his  wife  beyond  all  doubt  or  dispute." 

"  Very  fine  !  Why,  then,  does  he  so  seldom  show 
himself  with  his  wife?  People  are  beginning  to 
think  it  very  queer." 

"  Only  very  silly  people  could  have  such  a  thought. 
It  would  be  far  queerer,  if  Robert  Carter,  because  he 
had  married  a  wife,  was  to  neglect  his  profession 
and  give  up  the  investigations  which  are  making 
him  both  famous  and  rich.  You  would  not  wish  him 
to  do  that,  would  you,  Amber?" 


2oo  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  I  wish  him  to  pay  a  little  more  attention  to  me. 
I  have  been  three  nights  alone  this  week." 

"  Last  night  Robert  was  with  us,  and  you  hardly 
opened  your  lips.  You  were  reading  a  novel." 

"Robert  was  making  notes  out  of  a  book.  Of 
course,  you  take  Robert's  part.  Once  you  promised 
you  would  always  take  mine." 

"Are  your  '  parts '  different  ?    Oh,  no!     Oh,  no  !" 

"  I  think  we  will  have  dinner.  Why  should  two 
be  kept  waiting  for  one  ?" 

When  dinner  was  nearly  over  Robert  came  in. 
He  looked  weary  and  strangely  excited,  and  he  said 
with  enthusiasm : 

"  I  have  been  detained  by  a  very  remarkable 
operation — one  I  have  wished  to  see  performed  all 
my  life.  It  was  most  interesting  and  successful." 

Ambrosia  smiled  and  turned  to  Will. 

"  Can  you  imagine,"  she  said,  "  any  one  wishing 
to  see  a  surgical  operation  even  when  he  was  on  his 
mother's  knee  or  perhaps  flying  a  kite." 

"  Pardon,  Amber !  I  have  as  usual,  under  emotion, 
exaggerated.  I  mean  all  my  professional  life." 

"Which  is,  however,  all  your  life.  So  that  you 
spoke  without  any  exaggeration  after  all,  my  dear." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  tone  of  her  voice  that  imparted 
an  air  of  sarcasm  or  contempt  to  her  words  ;  perhaps 
it  was  the  humps  on  the  shoulders  of  her  dress  which 
gave  her  the  look  of  depreciating  everything  said, 
by  imparting  the  idea  of  a  perpetual  shrug.  But  in 
any  case  the  effect  was  the  same.  The  light  died 
out  of  the  doctor's  face,  he  became  reserved  and  eat 
his  dinner  in  silence,  and  when  the  meal  was  over, 
he  went  to  his  study  to  write  down  more  elaborately 
the  notes  he  had  taken. 


Amber  as  Friend  and  Wife.  201 

Will  had  left  the  room  previously,  hoping  that  if 
the  husband  and  wife  were  entirely  alone  they  might 
get  into  accord.  Will  had  at  last  discovered  that 
the  first  year  of  marriage  is  a  difficult  situation. 
Husband  and  wife  have  each  other's  "  ways  "  to  dis 
cover,  and  to  duly  "  allow  for,"  in  order  that  they 
may  either  agree  or  else  "agree  to  differ."  And 
suddenly  this  night  the  idea  came  to  Will  that  this 
process  of  assimilation  would  proceed  better  with 
out  any  outside  influence. 

"  I  am  always  interfering  either  with  their  quar 
rels  or  their  reconciliations,"  he  thought.  "  As  soon 
as  the  assistant  is  found  I  will  go  to  Europe  for  a 
few  months.  Robert  does  not  need  me  now.  Even 
when  he  is  '  out '  with  Amber  he  prefers  to  be  alone. 
And  I  am  often  in  Amber's  way,  too.  I  can  feel  it. 
If  she  had  more  solitude  she  might  encourage  Rob 
ert's  company." 

"Yet,  after  he  had  smoked  his  cigar,  he  went 
down  to  the  drawing-room.  He  was  unhappy  about 
this  couple,  who  really  loved  each  other,  and  ought 
to  be  happy  and  were  not.  He  wished  to  find  them 
sitting  together,  laughing  and  chatting.  Bessie's 
love  affair  was  to  disclose,  and  he  hoped  that  during 
the  after-dinner  interval  its  discussion  would  make 
peace.  But  the  room  was  silent  and  forlorn-looking. 
The  fire  on  the  hearth  had  burned  down.  The 
lights  had  been  purposely  lowered,  and  Ambrosia 
was  lying  on  a  sofa,  pallid  with  weeping  and  suffer 
ing  from  nervous  headache.  Will  felt  angry,  and  it 
is  easy  to  be  angry  with  the  absent.  At  once  he  was 
certain  that  Robert  was  to  blame. 

"  Where  is  Robert,  Amber  dear?"  he  asked. 

"  Gone  to  his  study  as  usual,"  she  answered  in  a 


202  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

faint    voice,    full    of    the    inflections    of    physical 
pain. 

"  And  you  are  ill  ?  It  is  too  bad  to  leave  you 
alone !" 

"  He  had  that '  case  '  to  elaborate.  I  am  nothing 
to  a  '  case  !'  Will,  you  are  always  good  to  me.  Am 
I  tiresome  and  cross  ?  Tell  me  truly." 

"You  are  the  loveliest  and  kindest  of  sisters. 
You  have  never  said  a  cross  word  to  me,  and  as 
for  being  'tiresome,'  it  is  the  most  ridiculous  of 
libels." 

"  Robert  finds  me  so,"  and  she  began  to  sob  with 
a  passion  that  came  hot  from  her  heart  and  made 
Will's  throb  sympathetically. 

"  Robert  means  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  is  cross 
to-night.  He  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself,  and 
I  shall  tell  him  so." 

Then  he  rang  for  Amber's  maid  and  persuaded 
her  to  go  to  bed,  and  promised,  with  a  very  serious 
intention,  to  plead  her  cause  for  her. 

•He  went  straight  to  his  brother.  The  door  of  his 
study  was  locked,  and  Robert  opened  it  with  some 
impatience. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Will  ?  It  is  so  late  now  I 
hoped  to  be  let  alone  and  find  some  peace  to  do  my 
writing." 

"Your  writing!     One  would  think,  Robert,  you 
liad  married  an  ink-stand  !" 
"  I  wish  to  goodness  I  had  !" 

"  Robert,  I  feel  angry  with  you  to-night.  Put 
down  your  pen  and  listen  to  me.  You  are  loved  by 
the  brightest  and  most  beautiful  of  women,  and  you 
treat  her  shamefully.  Yes,  sir !  You  treat "  her 
shamefully !  I  have  just  found  her  alone  in  the 


Amber  as  Friend  and  Wife.  203 

drawing-room,  suffering  terribly  with  nervous  head 
ache.  It  is  not  right.  Indeed  it  is  not." 

"  She  ought  not  to  cry.  She  knows  crying  gives 
her  a  headache.  Besides  which,  tears  drench  her 
moral  fiber  into  a  most  provoking  limpness.  I  could 
not  trust  myself  with  a  crying  woman." 

"  She  wanted  to  talk  to  you  to-night.  I  noticed 
how  prettily  she  had  dressed  herself.  She  was  so 
anxious  about  dinner  being  well  cooked,  so  eager 
for  you  to  be  on  time.  She  had  been  to  Bessie 
Madison's,  and  had  a  very  strange  and  pretty  story 
to  tell  you  about  her  cousin's  engagement.  She  was 
counting  the  minutes  of  the  last  hour  for  your  com 
ing,  listening  so  nervously  for  your  step  and  ring 
that  she  could  not  speak  ;  and,  whether  you  know  it 
or  not,  it  is  provoking,  it  is  destructive  of  her  happi 
ness,  to  have  all  her  pleasant  plans  and  intentions 
swept  away  for  a  '  case.'  And  I  tell  you  frankly, 
Robert,  you  have  a  confoundedly  cold,  professional 
way  of  assuming  '  cases '  to  be  the  most  important 
thing  in  life." 

"  Before  I  was  married,  Will,  you  never  found 
them  uninteresting." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  never  asked  mer  and  I  was 
too  polite  to  tell  you  the  truth.  Sometimes  I  found 
them  very  much  of  a  bore." 

"  Oh,  indeed !" 

"  Yes,  I  did.  Outsiders  do  not  usually  feel  any 
interest  in  those  parts  of  the  body  to  which  you  give 
Latin  names." 

"  A  wife  ought  to  feel  some  interest  in  her  hus 
band's  work." 

"  A  husband  ought  to  feel  some  interest  in 
his  wife's  work.  Why  do  you  leave  Amber  so 


2O4  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

much  alone?  No  woman  could  be  more  inter 
esting." 

"  Interesting !  Yes.  But  I  want  some  solitude. 
Will,  it  is  an  awful  thing  for  two  human  beings 
to  be  always  close  together.  The  most  dreadful 
thing  about  marriage  is  that  it  gives  another  a  claim 
to  share  every  hour  of  your  life.  You  can  talk  for 
hours,  Will,  about  the  physical  evils  of  overcrowd 
ing.  I  tell  you,  Will,  the  mental  and  spiritual  evils 
of  overcrowding  are  infinitely  worse.  Now  go  away 
and  leave  me  to  attend  to  my  own  affairs." 

"  I  am  going  to  Europe  for  six  months.  You  have 
too  long  soothed  your  sense  of  obligation  to  Amber 
by  thinking  :  '  Oh,  Will  is  there  !  Will  can  look 
alter  her !'  Now,  as  regards  Amber's  social  require 
ments,  I  cannot  take  your  place,  and  I  will  not  even 
if  I  can.  I  have  noticed  you,  lately.  In  society  you 
are  pleasant  enough,  but  at  your  own  fireside  you 
are  a  dumb  dog.  That  is  not  right." 

"  If  you  have  noticed  my  faults  so  closely,  perhaps 
you  have  also  seen  some  faults  in  my  wife  ?" 

"  Robert,  there  is  a  time  to  wink  and  a  time  to 
see.  Amber  is  in  a  physical  condition  which  ought 
to  blind  you  to  her  faults.  You  ought  to  show  her 
many  little  attentions  you  forget.  You  ought  to 
look  over  little  irritations  which  you  resent.  If  a 
sick  wife  speaks  two  words,  you  should  take  one  and 
leave  the  other." 

"  Bachelors  always  know  how  to  manage  wives, 
Will.  I  used  to  think  I  did.  Get  married,  Brother 
Will.  Marriage  opens  the  eyes  of  the  blind 
bachelor." 

"  Amber  loves  you.  Love  ought  to  cover  a  multi 
tude  of  faults.  She  expected  to  be  loved  in  return, 


Amber  as  Friend  and  Wife.  205 

to  be  petted,  to  be  made  much.  of.  Women  marry 
for  that  very  reason." 

"  Bachelor  wisdom  again,  Will.  A  woman  marries, 
first  of  all,  that  she  may  become  her  own  mistress. 
The  rest  follows.  She  has  immediately  every  right 
— and  a  great  many  wrongs.  Her  poor  husband  has 
neither  one  nor  the  other.  He  may  not  even  have 
an  hour  or  two,  to  write  up  one  of  the  most  impor 
tant  surgical  cases  that  has  ever  occurred." 

"What  is  the  good  of  talking,  Robert?  Actions 
speak  louder.  Go  to  Amber  and  kiss  her  good  night. 
Now,  Robert,  you  need  not  mix  valerian  or  any 
other  soothing  herb.  Go  kiss  your  wife's  tears  a»way  ; 
that  is  the  best  medicine  for  her." 

With  this  prescription  for  domestic  peace,  Will 
went.  He  was  not  dissatisfied  with  his  management 
of  Amber's  case.  He  perceived  that  he  had  at  least 
made  it  impossible  for  Robert  to  resume  his  writing, 
he  had  seen  him  stretch  out  his  hand  to  the  medi 
cine  chest,  and  he  knew  that,  after  a  shorter  or  longer 
period,  the  recreant  husband  would  seek  his  wife's 
presence,  and  that  Amber  with  the  culprit  in  this 
attitude  might  be  safely  left  to  manage  her  own  de 
fense. 

But  his  heart  ached  for  the  fair  hopes  he  had  seen 
bloom  so  brightly  and  wither  so  soon.  He  walked 
listlessly  from  window  to  window ;  he  took  up  a 
book  and  put  it  down ;  he  lifted  Amber's  dropped 
work ;  he  gazed  forward,  and  his  eyes  met  the  pic 
tured  face  of  his  dead  sister.  Then  he  went  to  his 
organ,  and  drew  out  the  stops  with  a  slow  and  noise 
less  hand,  and  the  music  softly  penetrated  the 
room.  And  by  and  by  his  voice  melted  into  it,  and 
Robert,  passing  the  door  on  his  penitential  visit  to 


206  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

his  wife,  stopped   a  few  moments  to  listen  to  the 
melodiously  solemn  question  Will  was  asking  : 

"  Who  will  salute  me  There  f 
Who  will  come  forth  to  greet  ? 
What  angel  on  the  golden  stair, 
Will  give  me  '  welcome  '  sweet  ?" 

After  all,  what  was  there  in  life  half  so  precious 
as  love  ?  Robert  knew  what  memories  of  love  that 
had  been  and  that  had  gone  away  forever  were 
stirring  his  brother's  heart  as  he  sang.  A  sort  of 
terror  about  Amber  smote  him.  With  all  her  pro 
voking  faults,  how  could  he  bear  to  lose  her?  If 
Will's  music  had  been  the  result  of  some  well-con 
sidered  plan  to  soften  Robert's  heart  and  stir  into 
life  his  tenderest  feelings,  it  would  have  been  the 
best  thing  possible.  Yet  the  song  was  only  a  per 
sonal  consolation,  and  Will  had  not  even  a  suspicion 
that  Robert  had  heard  and  responded  to  the  memo 
ries  it  evoked.  So  it  is  that  we  often  mount  the 
highest  when  we  do  not  know  where  we  are  going. 
So  it  is  often  just  the  little  things  that  are  the  great 
things  in  a  man's  or  a  woman's  destiny. 

The  sweet  old  song  had  its  mission,  and  fulfilled 
it.  For  Robert  was  but  half  subdued  when  it  spoke 
to  him.  He  was,  indeed,  on  his  way  to  Amber,  but 
his  intentions  were  not  purely  conciliatory.  He 
meant  to  "  make  it  up  "  with  her,  but  he  also  meant 
to  reason  with  her  unreasonableness,  and  teach  her 
how  unjustifiable  and  selfish  her  expectations  were. 
After  the  song,  he  put  himself  out  of  consideration. 
He  forgot  that  he  had  felt  wronged  and  slighted. 
He  felt  only  that  he  had  been  thoughtless  and  cruel. 

He  hurried  his  steps  to  her  bedside.  He  kissed 
open  the  dear  eyes  closed  with  nervous  suffering. 


Amber  as  Friend  and  Wife.  207 

Without  many  words,  he  whispered  his  confession 
and  took  his  pardon  from  her  lips.  Then  what  a  joy 
it  was  to  make  his  skill  minister  to  her  relief ;  to 
hover  around  her  ;  to  smooth  the  long,  bright,  loos 
ened  hair ;  to  watch  the  smiles  come  back  to  her  lip, 
the  sense  of  rest  and  peace  to  the  troubled  face,  and 
to  hear  her  gradually  begin  to  talk  !  In  an  hour  she 
was  telling  him  Bessie's  story,  and  making  him  feel 
so  happy  that  he  gladly  forgot  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  a  "  case  "  in  the  whole  wide  world. 

"  And  of  all  the  conceited  little  mortals  you  ever 
saw,  Robert,  my  cousin  Bessie  Madison  is  chief," 
was  Amber's  commentary  on  the  position.  "  Jack's 
infatuated  estimate  of  her  beauty  and  excellencies 
has  turned  her  head.  She  is  charmingly  certain  of 
herself  at  all  points.  She  knows  everything  about 
everything,  and  she  enjoys  the  conviction  that  she 
is  always  right  and  always  must  be  right,  and  that 
every  one  who  doubts  her  always  being  right  is 
either  jealous  of  her  advantages  or  envious  of  her 
romantic,  handsome  lover." 

There  are  very  few  men  who  do  not  enjoy  these 
womanly  estimates  of  their  dearest  friends,  and 
Robert  asked,  with  a  sufficient  interest  : 

"  Is  this  Jack  Madison  really  so  handsome  ?" 

Amber  made  a  little  scornful  "  mouth  "  ere  she 
answered : 

"  I  saw  a  photo  of  him.  The  face  is  good  enough  ; 
but  will  you  try  to  imagine  a  man,  however  hand 
some,  dressed  in  light  trousers  and  a  dark  vest  and 
coat  ?" 

"  I  positively  refuse  to  set  my  imagination  such  a 
task,"  answered  the  doctor. 

"  Of  course  a  man's  legs  ought  to  match  his  body." 


208  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

continued  Amber,  with  the  air  of  an  authority.  "  Jack 
Madison  really  seemed  to  be  cut  in  two ;  and  I  am 
sure,  between  the  light  half  and  the  dark  half,  he 
was  robbed  of  an  inch  in  height.  Why,  Robert,  even 
your  high-bred  air  and  dignified  carriage  could  not 
stand  such  a — separation  !" 

The  doctor  first  took  to  his  heart  Amber's  glance 
of  satisfied  pride  in  his  appearance,  and  then  hasted 
to  indorse  her  opinion.  He  was  certain  he  always 
must  have  had  an  instinctive  disapproval  of  such 
extremes,  and  Will  had  also.  If  ever  Will  had  worn 
a  light-and-dark  combination,  Robert  knew  it  would 
have  hurt  his  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  and  so 
been  fixed  in  his  memory. 

"  Bessie  will  be  here  to  dinner  on  Thursday  next, 
Robert ;  and  I  do  hope  you  will  try  to  be  at  home 
early,  dear,  and  do  be  at  my  side.  I  do  not  want 
Bessie  Madison  to  believe  she  is  the  only  woman  in 
the  world  who  has  a  lover." 

Robert  promised  all  she  asked.  He  forgot  at  that 
hour  that  he  was  a  surgeon.  He  only  knew  that  he 
was  a  husband,  sitting  by  the  side  and  holding  the 
hand  of  the  dearest  wife  and  the  loveliest  woman  in 
the  world. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

PERTAINING   TO   WOMEN. 

We  school  our  manners,  act  our  parts — 
But  he  who  sees  us  through  and  through, 

Knows  that  the  bent  of  both  our  hearts 
Was  to  be  gentle,  tranquil,  true. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

And  we  whose  ways  were  unlike  here, 
May  then  more  neighboring  courses  ply  ; 

May  to  each  other  be  brought  near, 
And  greet  across  eternity.        — Matthew  Arnold. 

One  of  the  most  pitiable  memories  in  life  is  the 
number  of  hours  we  have  willfully  and  wantonly 
made  miserable.  Blessed  are  the  men  and  women 
who  do  not  destroy  their  own  share  of  happiness ! 
Yet  all  of  us  can  look  backward  and  remember  days 
that  might  have  been  full  of  pleasure  that  were  full 
of  heartache — heartache  that  a  few  words  spoken  or 
unspoken  would  have  prevented.  Had  Ambrosia 
said  one  cheery,  welcoming  word  to  the  belated 
husband,  she  would  have  found  it  easy  to  say  more 
kind  words.  Then  she  would  have  expressed  interest 
in  what  interested  him,  and  they  would,  in  all  proba 
bility,  have  spent  the  evening  together  in  delightful 
conversation. 

[209] 


2io  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

In  such  case  Ambrosia  would  have  had  no  tears 
and  no  nervous  headache  in  the  lonely,  dim  drawing- 
room,  and  Robert  no  burning-  sense  of  wrong  and 
indifference  in  the  lonely  study.  True,  there  had 
been  the  reconciliation,  but  if  Ambrosia  had  cared 
to  consider  the  feelings  entering  into  this  paroxysm 
of  injured  love  she  would  not  have  felt  that  she  had 
had  any  triumph.  In  most  natures  the  sense  of  in 
jury  is  deeper  than  the  sense  of  reconciliation. 
"  After  all  I  was  right !"  "  I  was  foolish  to  give  in," 
is  often  the  last  thought,  even  where  there  has  been 
submission  and  apology.  A  little  offense  or  a  little 
disappointment  passed  over,  what  a  victory  it  is ! 
What  pleasure  and  rest  it  brings  !  What  a  sense  of 
self-respect!  Even  if  it  should  be  unsuccessful  it 
imparts  a  personal  consolation.  It  is  as  blessed  to 
give  in  as  to  give  away.  Ambrosia  had  made  a 
mistake,  and  she  thought  she  had  gained  a  vic 
tory. 

Mr.  Madison  was  older  and  wiser  than  Ambrosia, 
and  he  avoided  the  mistake  and  won  the  victory. 
His  first  feeling  on  entering  his  drawing-room  that 
night  had  been  one  of  jealous  annoyance.  The  sight 
of  Jack's  conscious  happiness  was  instantly  offensive. 
Jack  was  sitting  by  Bessie's  side,  and  had  the  air  of 
being  the  sole  possessor  of  the  lovely  girl,  who,  in 
heliotrope  cr$pe  and  silver  tassels,  leaned  lovingly 
toward  him.  "  This  is  too  much  !"  "  I  think  I  have 
some  rights  !"  ,  "  I  am  not  going  to  be  second  in  my 
own  house  !"  A  crowd  of  such  thoughts  pressed  one 
after  the  other  upon  his  heart.  They  affected  his 
greeting  of  the  lovers.  He  spoke  coldly  and  he 
could  not  help  it.  He  saw  Jack  rise  in  an  embar 
rassed  manner.  He  saw  Bessie  half  close  her  eyes 


Pertaining  to    Women.  211 

and  look  curiously  at  him.  He  felt  that  he  had  the 
power  to  make  every  one  alike  miserable. 

But  he  did  not  do  it.  By  a  great  self-denial  he 
arrested  himself,  and  determined  to  be  the  promoter 
of  pleasure.  He  turned  back  and  kissed  Bessie  and 
gave  Jack's  hand  a  grip  in  passing,  and  then  slipped 
into  Jack's  place  and  drew  Bessie  down  to  his  side. 
He  made  a  joke  of  his  little  plan  to  get  the  better  of 
Jack ;  and  Bessie,  being  one  of  those  women  who 
read  men's  hearts  easily,  said  her  father  had  fairly 
won  her,  and  all  evening  she  carried  out  the  idea ; 
she  sat  by  his  side  and  put  Jack  back  to  a  secondary 
place. 

So  at  last  the  father  could  not  be  ungenerous. 
After  dinner,  he  placed  Bessie  between  Jack  and 
himself,  and  began  to  talk  of  the  Texan  home  and 
of  what  was  to  be  done  to  preserve  it. 

Then  Bessie  gave  her  decided  opinion  about  liv 
ing  in  Texas.  She  said  it  was  an  impossibility  for 
her  to  do  so.  It  was  too  far  from  New  York.  The 
State  was  a  big  State,  but  not  big  enough  for  her 
and  James  Madison.  She  had  felt  snubbed  all  the 
time  she  was  there.  James,  after  his  marriage, 
would  doubtless  grow  still  wiser  and  greater,  and 
she  did  not  like  to  be  made  to  feel  as  if  she  was  a 
grasshopper  in  his  sight. 

"  But  the  house  will  then  be  your  house,  Bessie. 
Nobody  could  snub  you  in  your  own  house.  And  I 
think  you  ought  to  have  a  winter  residence,"  urged 
Mr.  Madison. 

"  I  do  not  like  the  house,  father.  I  want  a  winter 
house  with  all  the  modern  improvements.  And,  as 
for  '  snubbing,'  James  Madison  would  snub  the  apos 
tles  if  they  did  not  wear  their  gowns  and  miters. 


2 1 2  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Now,  Alphonse  does  like  the  house,  and  he  loves 
dearly  a  beautiful  girl,  called  Margaret  Blair.  I 
almost  promised  Alphonse  I  would  arrange  things 
comfortably  for  him  and  Margaret." 

"  But  Jack  ought  to  come  first.  The  house  should 
be  Jack's !" 

"  Jack  does  not  want  it." 

"Jack  has  surely  some  respect  for  his  ancestor, 
who  fought  for  the  land  and  built  the  house  ?" 

"  Of  course,  father,  Jack  respects  his  ancestor. 
But  we  do  not  require  to  live  in  Texas,  as  a  mark  of 
respect  for  him.  Besides,  Jack's  ancestor  ought  to 
have  built  a  much  nicer  house  to  go  with  that  duke 
dom  of  land.  Alphonse  has  not  one  aptitude  for 
money-making.  He  could  not  even  make  money  by 
marrying  it,  as  James  is  going  to  do.  And  Jack — 
God  bless  him  ! — father,  you  have  taught  Jack  how 
to  earn  his  own  bread.  I  do  not  want  to  live  off  my 
ancestors.  I  want  Jack  to  make  my  living.  Let 
Alphonse  and  Margaret  have  the  house  in  rever 
sion.  Alphonse  and  Uncle  Sam  will  preserve  for 
another  generation  the  traditional  Southern  gentle 
man  ;  and  I  think  both  they  and  Louisa  will  be  glad 
to  be  finally, rid  of  me.  Margaret  will  suit  them  ; 
she  is  conservative  and  usual.  I  frightened  all  the 
family  a  little — except  Jack." 

Jack  endorsed  Bessie's  views.  He  did  not  wish  to 
leave  New  York.  He  liked  his  business  life.  He 
had  faith  in  Bessie  and  in  himself,  and  he  wished 
Mr.  Madison  to  release  the  Texas  property  in  favor 
of  Alphonse  and  Alphonse's  children,  as  the  ulti 
mate  possessors  of  the  estate.  Mainly  this  point 
was  conceded,  and  Bessie's  father  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  tell  the  lovers  that  he  had  secured  for 


Pertaining  to    Women.  213 

them  a  tract  of  rich  bottom  land,  which  in  any 
reverse  of  fortune  would  be  a  fortune  saved.  With 
out  this  knowledge,  they  were  pleased  enough  with 
the  words  of  gratitude  Alphonse  and  Margaret  sent 
and  with  the  news  that  they  would,  after  all,  be 
married  before  the  irreproachable  James. 

There  had  been  a  fixed  resolve  in  Mr.  Madison's 
mind  that  Bessie  should  not  make  any  appearance 
in  society  that  winter.  But  it  was  hardly  possible 
to  refuse  her  cousin's  invitation  ;  and  when  all  was 
considered,  a  dinner  at  Doctor  Carter's  was  only  a 
family  dinner.  In  the  meantime  Bessie  followed 
out  her  intentions  regarding  the  decoration  of  her 
house.  She  went  with  her  water-colors  and  pencils 
to  the  Astor  Library  very  frequently,  and  in  its 
pleasant  stillness  copied  "  bits  of  coloring  "  and  "  cor 
ners  "  and  "  interiors,"  besides  making  many  pretty 
and  suggestive  notes. 

Jack  called  for  her  on  his  way  uptown,  and  if  it 
was  fine  they  walked  Broadway  together,  often  call 
ing  at  Tiffany's  to  see  what  could  be  found  there,  to 
carry  out  their  designs.  There  were,  indeed,  a  hun 
dred  different  interests  to  detain  them,  for  they  were 
busy  home-making  and  as  important  and  happy 
about  it  as  two  lovers  could  be.  Yet  in  spite  of  her 
numerous  occupations,  Bessie  found  time  to  remem 
ber  Ambrosia's  little  dinner-party.  She  felt  that  at 
this  initial  entertainment  she  must  take  an  individual 
stand  and  not  permit  Mrs.  Doctor  Carter  to  treat  her 
as  a  "  bud  "  or  a  debutante  or  any  other  incomplete 
creature. 

She  had  some  ideas  of  her  own  even  about  dress, 
and  she  imbibed  a  great  many  more  from  the  ex 
quisite  "Books  of  Costumes"  in  the  Astor.  Over 


2 1 4  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

these  gorgeous  volumes  she  brooded  a  whole  after 
noon,  and  the  result  was  an  irrepressible  exclama 
tion  of  delighted  amazement  from  her  father  and 
Jack.  Ambrosia  was  able  to  suppress  the  exclama 
tion,  but  Bessie  saw  it  in  her  eyes  and  was  satisfied. 
She  was  satisfied  herself,  as  she  took  a  final  glance 
in  Ambrosia's  mirror.  For  her  gown  of  silk  corduroy 
of  a  golden-cream  color,  and  gored  to  fit  her  girlish 
figure,  was  a  thing  for  approval  only.  Its  bodice  was 
edged  with  folds  of  narrow  gold  ;  and  its  bretelles  of 
cream  and  gold  were  bordered  with  small  pink  pom 
pon  roses.  The  result  was  wonderfully  effective.  It 
gave  Ambrosia  a  little  start  of  pleasure  and  surprise. 

u  However  has  such  a  child  come  to  select  the 
colors  and  the  materials  ?"  she  wondered.  "  But,  of 
course,  the  whole  costume  is  madame's  suggestion  ; 
it  is  madame's  business  to  get  out  of  her  head  and 
out  of  the  clouds  all  the  wonderful  combinations 
possible." 

Mr.  Madison  did  not  accompany  his  daughter. 

"  Two  out  of  one  family  are  enough,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  sent  my  regrets,  and  Jack  will  be  exactly 
the  escort  for  such  a  smart  little  lady." 

The  criticism  was  not  too  favorable.  Ambrosia, 
who  had  in  mind  that  unfortunate  photo  in  which 
Jack's  legs  did  not  match  his  body,  was  thrown  quite 
out  of  her  decisions.  Here,  at  least,  was  a  relative 
whom  she  need  not  be  ashamed  to  put  upon  her  list 
of  friends.  She  was  so  pleased  with  Jack  that  she 
took  some  pains  to  make  him  feel  proud  to  call  Mrs. 
Doctor  Carter  a  cousin. 

"  On  the  whole,  it  was  a  very  nice  affair — not  too 
much  dinner  and  not  too  many  people." 

This  was  Bessie's  first  criticism  the  next  morning. 


Pertaining  to    Women.  215 

It  was  a  very  wet  morning1,  and  when  she  came  down 
at  eleven  o'clock  she  found  her  father  sitting  by  the 
fire,  with  a  pile  of  newspapers  at  his  side. 

She  looked  a  little  sleepy,  and  she  had  eschewed 
all  fineries.  A  pink  cashmere  wrapper,  with  bits  of 
tiny  ruffles,  was  all  she  had  felt  equal  to ;  and  her 
hair  was  combed  straight  back  from  her  face  and 
tied  in  one  long  braid  behind.  But  nothing  could 
make  Bessie  look  severe.  Lots  of  little  curls  and 
tendrils  had  run  away  from  the  orders  of  the  comb 
and  the  braiding ;  and  Mr.  Madison  could  not  help 
a  sigh  of  satisfaction  in  the  school-girly-looking 
daughter  that  greeted  him.  She  seemed  so  much 
more  like  his  own  Bessie  than  did  the  splendidly 
robed  girl  of  the  previous  evening. 

"  Good  morning,  my  little  girl !"  he  cried,  cheerily. 
"  I  have  waited  at  home  to  see  you." 

"  I  am  so  glad,  father !    Have  you  had  breakfast?" 

"  I  was  thinking  about  lunch.  Do  you  know  it  is 
eleven  o'clock  ?" 

"Then  I  will  ring  for  my  coffee  and  what-nots.  - 
And  as  I  eat  I  will  tell  you  about  Amber's  dinner. 
Put  down  the  Herald,  father.     I  will  not  talk  against 
the  Herald.     It  is  too  big  a  rival." 

"  There, 'now  !  All  the  papers  are  behind  my  back. 
What  of  the  dinner  ?" 

"  A  very  nice  affair ;  but  I  am  sure  I  could  man 
age  a  dinner  better.  The  flowers  were  lovely,  but  I 
think  to  Mr.  Will  Carter  belong  the  honor  and  glory 
of  the  floral  arrangements." 

"  Did  you  see  the  doctor?" 

"  He  was  in  evidence  from  first  to  last.  I  do  not 
believe  he  left  Amber's  side.  But  he  looked  bored." 

"  Oh,  Bessie  I" 


216  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  He  did,  really,  as  if  his  heart  was  far  away. 
Amber  said  something  about  his  overwhelming1 
duties  at  hospital  and  laboratory.  Can  you  imagine 
a  man's  heart  being  in  such  disagreeable  places? 
Yet  I  think  it  was." 

"  Who  else  was  present?" 

"Mr.  Will  Carter,  of  course.  Will  is  delightful. 
I  should  not  wonder  if  he  adores  Amber  in  a  sisterly 
way.  He  is  not  handsome,  and  yet  plenty  of  hand 
some  men  are  not  as  charming.  He  is  even  rather 
bald,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  mind  it  at  all.  You 
are  bald,  too,  father,  and  you  do  not  seem  to  mind  it 
either.  How  brave  men  are  !  I  admire  their  cour 
age,  and  I  wonder  what  sum  of  money  a  woman 
would  take  to  exhibit  herself  without  hair  on  her 
head !" 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not  as  much  courage  as  a  kind  of 
audacious  candor.  Men  are  naturally  less  inclined 
to  personal  deception  than  women  are." 

"  I  trust  it  will  never  be  fashionable  for  women  to  be 
so  audaciously  candid.  Will  Carter  was  kind  to  me. 
Kind  is  just  the  word,  but  he  talked  mostly  to 
Miss  Radway.  Miss  Radway  is  so  very  clever.  She 
used  to  lecture  to  us  at  school." 

"  I  remember.     About  history  ?" 

"'Social  Duties'  and  'Woman's  Influence'  and 
that  kind  of  thing.  Yes,  and  she  read  and  explained 
'  Gibbon's  Rise  and  Fall '  to  us.  I  did  not  under 
stand  her  then." 

"And  now  you  know  all  about  a  woman's  influ 
ence.  Eh,  Bessie?" 

"I  think  I  do.  And  as  for  the  history  of  the 
'  Rise  and  Fall,'  the  history  of  everything  that  has  a 
history  is  one  of  '  rise  and  fall.  I  hope  the  day  may 


Pertaining  to    Women.  2 1 7 

come  when  people  will  find  some  better  excuse  for 
meeting  than  a  dinner.  Eating  with  company  is 
not  as  nice  as  it  is  to  sip  my  coffee  and  cut  my  beef 
steak  and  take  my  ease  over  it  at  my  own  fire- 
side." 

"  How  was  Amber  looking?" 

"  Very  handsome.  She  had  on  a  lovely  work  of 
art  in  black,  and  if  she  would  only  dress  her  front 
hair  better  I  should  have  no  fault  to  find  with  her." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  her  front  hair?" 

"  It  hangs  down  into  her  eyes  and  makes  her  look 
like  a  Skye  terrier.  But  I  suppose  Amber  would 
catch  cold  without  her  bang.  She  has  worn  it  for 
years  and  years,  so  to  speak." 

"  What  of  Mr.  Montgomery  Banks  ?  He  is  very 
rich." 

"  The  only  thing  he  said  directly  to  me  was : 
4  Will  you  take  an  ice?  I  am  going  to.'  I  declined 
the  ice,  for  it  did  not  strike  me  as  a  joy  and  honor 
forever  to  eat  an  ice  because  he  eat  one." 

"  Then  I  suppose  Jack  was  the  greatest  beau 
there  ?" 

"  Jack  was  the  finest  gentleman.  The  greatest 
beau  was  a  certain  Doctor  St.  Ange.  He  has  become 
Doctor  Carter's  assistant  in  some  '  'ology '  or  other. 
I  took  a  dislike  to  him." 

"Why?-' 

"  Just  because  I  did.  He  is  very  elegant  and  very 
handsome,  but  I  do  not  like  him.  And  I  never  be 
fore  saw  hands  that  appeared  cruel.  His  did.  Yet 
they  were  beautiful  hands — white,  cold,  graceful ; 
but  they  looked  wicked.  I  could  not  help  thinking 
'  what  a  blow  they  could  give.'  I  should  say  the 
man  was  physically  a  gentleman  and  morally  a 


2 1 8  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

scamp.    That  is  what  I  heard  some  one  say  of  Cousin 
James,  and  he  reminded  me  of  him." 

"  I  thought  it  was  too  nice  a  distinction  for  you  to 
make." 

"  I  can  feel  when  it  applies,  though.  Yet  what 
can  we  tell  of  people  in  a  drawing-room  ?  We  were 
all  well-dressed,  and  we  all  had  the  same  manner 
isms,  and  we  all  talked  alike,  and  for  practical  pur 
poses  we  all  thought  alike.  No  one  said  anything 
out  of  order  but  Miss  Radway  and  Will  Carter,  and 
we  listened  and  did  not  dare  to  approve.  I  do  think 
Will  Carter  is  good  company.  When  he  talked,  I 
wanted  him  to  go  on  talking.  But  the  topic  was 
unfortunate.  We  could  not  risk  our  reputations 
on  it." 

"  What  was  the  dreadful  subject  ?" 

"  Woman's  rights.  Miss  Radway  began  it.  She 
was  talking  about  woman-culprits  having  a  right  to 
a  jury  of  women.  Doctor  Carter  listened  with  polite 
coldness,  and  said  he  thought  most  women  would 
prefer  a  jury  of  men.  Doctor  St.  Ange  said  it 
would  be  a  merciless  law,  because  the  cruelty  of 
woman  to  woman  would  far  outshine  the  inhu 
manity  of  man  to  man.  Then  Montgomery  Banks 
posed  and  simpered  and  made  some  horrid  little 
stale  jokes  about  women,  and  put  on  such  airs — and 
yet  nobody  kicked  him." 

"  Perhaps  every  one,  mentally,  did  so." 

"  Amber  tried  to  turn  the  subject,  but  Will  was 
perverse.  He  said  everything  that  the  great  mas 
ters  of  ancient  song  taught  us  was,  that  woman  had, 
must,  shall  and  will  have  her  own  way.  He  said  the 
'  Iliad '  proved  that  neither  men  nor  gods  could 
stand  against  her.  He  said  Thetis  coaxed  Jupiter, 


Pertaining  to    Women.  219 

and  Juno  outwitted  him,  and  Pallas  Athene  fairly 
snapped  her  fingers  at  the  Thunderer.  He  was  be 
ginning  on  the  '  Odyssey,'  when  Amber  politely  rose 
and  led  the  way  to  her  private  sitting-room.  Amber 
is  possessed  of  a  correctly  modern  mind.  She  is 
always  able  to  do  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time. 
Miss  Radway  tried  to  resume  the  subject  when  we 
ladies  were  alone,  but  we  had  our  dresses  and  dress 
makers  to  discuss,  and  Woman's  Rights  of  Suffrage 
did  not  seem  interesting.  I  like  Miss  Radway,.  but 
I  do  wish  she  would  not  walk  on  tip-toes  about 
women.  The  mantle  of  '  Woman's  Rights '  is  a  great 
deal  too  wide  and  too  long  for  her.  I  think  that  is 
all  that  happened." 

"  What  did  Jack  say  ?" 

"  Jack  talked  to  me,  mainly.  I  do  not  think  his 
conversation  would  interest  anybody  else." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  Amber's  house  ?" 

"  It  is  very  fine,  especially  in  Persian  rugs  and 
satin-wood  cabinets.  The  one  for  her  music  had  a 
Bartolozzi  engraving.  And  oh,  father,  the  mantles 
in  oak  !  Well,  they  made  me  think  of  the  far-back 
centuries,  and  of  Mr.  Orchardson's  pictures.  I  shall 
imitate  Amber  in  nothing.  I  liked  the  parquetry 
flooring  and  dados,  but  where  does  she  get  the  ser 
vants  to  keep  her  fine  wood-work  polished  ?  Amber 
says  it  improves  with  time.  I  wish  we  did  !" 

"  We  ought  to  do  so." 

"  But  we  do  not,  and  that  is  a  fact.  I  wish  I  had  not 
seen  that  Doctor  St.  Ange.  I  am  afraid  he  is  no  angel." 

"  I  would  not  trouble  myself  about  the  man.  Am 
ber  is  sufficient  for  herself." 

"  What  made  you  think  of  Amber  in  connection 
with  him  ?" 


220  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Did  I  do  so  ?  I  had  no  motive  in  it.  I  am  now 
wondering  about  Doctor  Carter's  income.  Amber's 
way  of  living  must  be  trying  to  a  slender  income." 

"  Amber  is  not  extravagant.  There  never  was 
any  need  to  tell  Amber  to  go  to  the  ant  and  consider 
its  thrifty  ways.  Thrift  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  her 
plans.  She  told  me  Will  Carter  always  kept  her  in 
flowers.  I  wonder  if  she  intends  St.  Ange  to  take 
Will's  place  as  special  attendant.  Will  is  going  to 
Europe  on  Saturday." 

"  It  is  not  our  affair,  Bessie.  Doctor  Carter  would 
not  thank  any  one  for  speculating  about  his  domestic 
arrangements." 

"  When  a  man  brings  into  his  domestic  arrange 
ment  a  St.  Ange,  you  can  no  more  help  thinking  of 
him  than  you  can  help  thinking  of  the  satin-wood 
cabinets  or  the  Wedgewood  service.  Miss  Radway, 
with  her  eyes  closed  to  a  slit,  looked  at  Doctor  Carter 
and  then  at  Amber  several  times  in  such  a  peculiar 
manner.  I  saw  her.  She  was  wondering  if  they 
were  suited  to  each  other — if  they  were  happy — or 
something  of  that  kind." 

"  Nonsense  !  Miss  Radway  was  considering  some 
problem  of  the  veracities  or  the  eternities.  A  mere 
question  of  domestic  happiness  would  not  interest 
her." 

"  Yes,  it  would.  She  thinks  she  is  strong-minded 
and  carries  a  volume  of  Mill  in  her  pocket,  but  at 
heart  she  is  more  sentimental  than  a  school-girl. 
She  was  as  interested  as  could  be  in  Jack.  I  do  not 
believe  she  liked  St.  Ange." 

"Did  Jack  like  him?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  When  I  said  St.  Ange  was  horrid,  Jack 
said  so,  too." 


Pertaining  to    Women.-  221 

"  Poor  vSt.  Ange  !  You  must  ask  him  here  with 
the  doctor  and  Amber." 

"  Indeed,  I  cannot.  The  house  is  all  tossed  up, 
and  going  to  be  more  so  every  day.  I  told  Amber 
we  were  moving  out  to  let  workmen  in,  and  she  got 
under  the  situation  at  once.  I  have  already  more  to 
do  than  I  can  manage.  Jack  and  I  are  making  lists 
of  things  I  had  better  buy  in  Europe.  We  have  not 
got  through  the  china  list  yet.  Still  I  shall  call  at 
Doctor  Carter's  as  often  as  I  can.  St.  Ange  interests 
me." 

Her  first  call  was  with  Jack,  and  being  a  formal 
and  anticipated  one,  was  as  barren  as  such  calls  al 
ways  are.  A  hurried  "  run  in  "  on  the  following  day 
discovered  Amber  in  tears.  She  said  it  was  because 
of  a  letter  from  "poor  Clara,"  and  she  lifted,  rather 
ostentatiously,  a  black-bordered  letter  lying  on  the 
table.  Bessie  did  not  disbelieve  her,  for  a  rather 
sad  conversation  on  the  circumstances  of  Mrs.  Shep 
herd  followed. 

"  Her  mother  has  just  died,"  said  Amber,  "  and 
Clara  has  gone  to  Vermont  to  bring  her  father  to 
Mayberry.  It  does  seem  hard  for  a  beautiful  woman 
to  be  tied  with  a  sick  old  man  at  a  desolate  farm  like 
Mayberry." 

"  The  sick  old  man  is  her  father ;  and  I  dare  say 
she  likes  to  make  him  happy  and  comfortable."" 

Then  her  eyes  wandering  round  the  room,  she 
saw  upon  the  piano  a  violin. 

"  Are  you  learning  that  instrument,  Amber  ?"  she 
asked,  with  a  new  interest. 

"No." 

"  It  is  quite  fashionable  now,  for  ladies.  Lena 
Desbrosses  says  :  '  It  makes  a  girl  look  so  cunning.'  " 


222  '  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"Yes.  I  have  seen  Lena  look  'cunning,'  and 
cuddle  her  head  down  to  the  wood  thing  in  a  very 
fascinating  way." 

"  Does  Mr.  Will  Carter  play  the  violin  with  you  ? 
Or  Doctor  Carter?" 

"  Will  plays  the  organ,  nothing  less.  Doctor  Car 
ter  is  interested  only  in  worms,  invisible  worms. 
The  violin  belongs  to  Doctor  St.  Ange." 

"  Really  ?  Then  St.  Ange  riddles  to  your  piano- 
playing?" 

"'Fiddles?'     What  an  expression,  Bessie  !" 
i      "Viols.     Is  that  better ?" 

"  Any  word  you  like.  His  violin  goes  well  with 
some  of  my  pieces.  He  performs  with  great  feeling 
and  with  some  skill,  I  think." 

"  '  Performs  ?'  Yes,  '  performs  ' — that  is  the  word. 
I  am  glad  to  know.  I  might  have  said  '  riddle '  to 
Lena  Desbrosses.  What  lovely  little  feet  she  has. 
Have  you  noticed  them?" 

"Yes.  She  has  undoubtedly  pretty  feet,  and  to 
show  them,  she  wears  her  dresses  short  in  front  and 
long  behind,  and,  consequently,  she  is  just  the  shape 
of  a  turkey.  Some  one  ought  to  tell  her  how  funny 
she  looks.  I  cannot.  Colonel  Desbrosses  is  one  of 
Doctor  Carter's  patients." 

"  And  I  cannot,  for  Lena  is  born  to  occupy  a  front 
seat  in  the  best  society  circles,  and  I  make  a  point  of 
being  civil  to  such  people.  I  might  have  to  sit 
among  them.  Jack  has  the  faculty  of  money- 
making." 

"  Is  Jack  going  with  you  to  Europe  ?" 

"  No.  Father  is  determined  to  have  me  undivided 
for  six  months.  That  is  the  bargain." 

"  In   six   months  you    will    find    another    lover. 


Pertaining  to    Women.  223 

Those  grand  young  Englishmen  !  So  blonde,  so 
strong,  so  handsome,  so  full  of  vitality  !" 

"  I  should  compare  them  with  Jack  and  find  them 
wanting.  Do  you  not  think  Jack  very  handsome  ?" 

"  Tastes  differ.     But  I  think  he  has  a  nice  face." 

"  And  a  fine  figure  ?  Did  you  notice  how  erect  he 
carries  himself  ?  All  Texans  have  that  up-head  way 
in  walking." 

"  Both  his  face  and  his  figure  are  simply  perfect. 
Nature  deserves  praise  for  producing  both  the  one 
and  the  other." 

"  Amber,  do  not  air  your  wit  on  poor  Jack.  You 
can  throw  a  shaft  or  two  at  me.  I  can  talk  back  to 
you." 

"  My  dear  Bessie,  you  are  so  sweetly  innocent  yet. 
Get  married  and  you  will  know  in  three  months 
more  than  ninteen  years  of  unmarried  life  can  teach 
you." 

"  One  would  think  you  had  a  grudge  at  marriage. 
Are  you  not  very  happy  ?" 

"  Very  happy." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that.  Doctor  Carter  is  such  a  won 
derful  man.  Every  one  talks  about  him.  It  must 
be  lovely  to  be  the  wife  of  a  truly  great  man." 

"  Very  lovely." 

"  Jack  is  not  a  great  man." 

"  You  ought  to  be  thankful." 

"  I  am.  If  Jack  was  clever  I  should  have  to  sym 
pathize  with  things  I  did  not  at  all  comprehend, 
which  would  be  a  great  bore.  But  when  Jack  says 
'  he  has  done  a  good  stroke  of  business,  or  made  ten 
thousand  dollars,'  I  understand  what  that  means 
very  well.  It  would  not  bore  me  to  talk  it  over  with 
him.  See  ?" 


224  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Very  clearly  indeed." 

A  few  days  after  this  visit  Bessie  passed  Amber 
and  St.  Ange.  All  were  driving,  and  a  smile  and 
rapid  uplifting  of  the  eyes  were  all  the  greeting  pos 
sible.  But  Bessie  thought  some  more,  and  wondered 
some  more,  and  finally  mentioned  the  meeting  to 
her  father,  who  dismissed  the  information  with  an 
"  indeed  "  so  final  that  even  Bessie  did  not  care  to 
talk  against  a  word  having  such  a  perceptible 
"  mind-your-own-business  "  tone. 

The  day  preceding  her  sailing  for  Europe,  Bessie 
expected  Amber  to  call  and  take  lunch  with  her. 
Amber  had  promised  to  do  so,  but  she  neither  came 
nor  sent  any  apology.  Bessie  was  both  anxious  and 
curious,  and  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  she 
drove  to  the  Carters.  Mrs.  Carter  was  sick,  but  in 
response  to  a  message  scribbled  on  her  card,  Bessie 
was  admitted  to  her  presence. 

Doctor  St.  Ange  left  the  room  as  Bessie  entered 
it.  Amber  was  on  the  sofa  in  her  morning-gown. 
Her  hair  was  loosened  and  she  was  still  in  that  inter 
mittent  condition  of  occasional  sobbing  which  indi 
cates  the  subsidence  of  a  storm  of  feeling.  Indeed, 
her  whole  appearance  showed  excessive  distress, 
and  Bessie's  sympathy  brought  on  a  fresh  attack. 
Then  Doctor  St.  Ange  returned  to  the  room  and 
gave  her  a  spoonful  of  some  medicine  and  directed 
a  maid  to  continue  the  gentle  rubbing  of  her  mis 
tress's  hands  and  feet.  With  a  very  grave  face  he 
retired  again,  and  Amber  explained  that  she  had 
been  suffering  very  much  for  several  hours. 

"  But  where  is  Doctor  Carter  ?  Have  you  not  sent 
for  him  ?" 

"  I  do  not  want  to  see  him.     I  cannot  bear  to  see 


Pertaining  to    Women.  225 

him.     If  he  should  come  in,  I  should  have  another 
attack,  I  am  sure.     He  is  so  cruel — so  cruel !" 

Bessie  was  confounded. 

"  Why,  whatever  has  the  doctor  done  ?"  she  asked. 

"  He  wanted  me  to  go  this  summer  to  some  horrid 
little  place  close  to  New  York.  I  have  set  my  heart 
on  Newport.  All  my  important  friends  are  going 
to  Newport.  He  said  some  dreadful  things,  and  my 
heart  is  nearly  broken." 
^  "  Did  you  say  dreadful  things,  also  ?" 

"  I  suppose  I  did.  I  do  not  know.  I  was  in  such 
a"  state,  I  do  not  know  what  I  said.  I  am  sure  I  was 
not  responsible.  I  was  so  ill — suffering — and  he 
went  away  and  sent  Doctor  St.  Ange  to  attend  to 
me.  What  a  cruelty  !  What  an  indignity  !  I  will 
never  forgive  it." 

"  I  dare  say  he  could  not  bear  to  see  you  in  such  a 
bad — I  mean,  suffering  so  much." 

"  Men  are  so  brutal.   I  wish  I  had  never  married." 

"  Jack  is  not  brutal.  Jack  would  not  be  brutal 
under  any  circumstances.  Nothing  could  make  Jack 
brutal  to  a  woman." 

"  Jack  is  like  all  the  rest,  and  you  will  find  it  out." 

"I  shall  find  nothing  wrong  out,  I  am  sure.  I 
should  not  wonder  if  you  had  not  been  a  little  to 
blame.  You  always  were  hasty,  Amber.  Let  me 
send  for  Doctor  Carter,  and  do  make  it  up  with  him. 
It  must  be  awful  to  be  '  out '  with  your  own  hus 
band.  No  wonder  you  are  ill  and  broken-hearted  !" 

"  I  would  not  humble  to  Doctor  Carter  for  any 
thing.  Oh,  Bessie,  warn  every  girl  you  know  against 
marrying  old  bachelors !  They  are  so  set  in  their 
horrid,  selfish  ways." 

"  Doctor  Carter  is  a  charming  man,  and  I  am  sure 


226  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

he  idolizes  you.  Send  for  him  at  once.  I  would  not 
see  that  Doctor  St.  Ange  ;  he  is  horrid  !" 

Amber  sighed  but  did  not  answer.  Then  she 
managed  to  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  Bessie  and  talk 
over  her  directions  for  a  set  of  fine  Belfast  bed  and 
table  drapery — hand  embroidered.  Doctor  St.  Ange 
did  not  intrude  upon  the  confidences,  but  when 
Bessie  went  away,  she  saw  him  sitting  by  a  window 
in  the  corridor,  reading.  He  rose  and  would  have 
spoken,  but  Bessie  bowed  distantly  and  declined 
conversation  with  him.  She  had  seen  Amber  in 
"  tantrums "  occasionally  when  they  were  school 
fellows,  and  had  learned  from  experience  that  they 
were  more  annoying  to  others  than  hurtful  to  her 
self. 

However,  there  were  a  hundred  other  things  to 
think  of  and  to  talk  about,  and  Amber  did  not  cause 
much  curiosity  in  her  cousin's  family.  Bessie  knew 
her  father  would  ignore  the  subject,  and  a  certain 
delicate  reserve  about  "  things  pertaining  to  women  " 
made  her  withhold  her  confidence  from  Jack.  And 
perhaps,  after  all,  Amber  knew  her  own  business 
best,  for  she  was  at  the  steamer  the  next  morning, 
in  the  highest  spirits  and  looking  charming  in  a  cos 
tume  of  cloth  and  astrachan.  Yesterday's  pallor  and 
air  of  suffering  hopelessness  were  quite  gone. 

She  reiterated  her  commissions  and  her  good 
wishes,  and  with  a  delightful  oblivion  as  to  methods, 
she  finally  told  Bessie  that  she  had  at  last  made  up 
her  mind  to  spend  the  summer  in  Newport.  Doctor 
Carter,  she  said,  had  the  offer  of  a  cottage  there,  and 
Bessie  must  think  of  her  as  enjoying  the  sea  breezes 
and  such  pleasant  company  as  her  condition  of 
mourning  permitted.  Then  came  the  bustle  of  leav- 


Pertaining  to    Women.  227 

ing  and  the  crowding  to  the  wharf ;  but  the  last 
thing  Bessie  saw  was  Doctor  St.  Ange  assisting  Am 
ber  into  her  carriage. 

She  had  little  opportunity  to  reflect  upon  the  cir 
cumstance.  There  was  a  universal  feeling  on  board 
that  the  gallant  Cunarder  was  going  to  race  the  City 
of  Paris,  and  even  the  ladies  were  much  excited  over 
the  news.  At  first,  Mr.  Madison  was  grave  and  dis 
inclined  to  approve,  but  when  the  open  sea  was 
gained  and  the  race  really  in  progress,  he  found  his 
enthusiasm  master  his  prudence,  and  before  he  was 
aware  was  warmly  defending  the  sport. 

"  Were  we  not  all — British  and  Americans — de 
scendants  of  those  who  claimed  the  empire  of  the 
seas?"  he  asked.  "If  horse-racing  was  encouraged 
to  improve  the  breed  of  horses,  why  not  ocean-racing 
to  encourage  the  build  of  steamers  ?" 

"  Besides,"  said  another  partisan,  eagerly,  "  the 
great  ocean  highways  belong  to  us.  They  are  per 
fect  'courses'  ready  made;  nothing  but  'hazards' 
from  beginning  to  end." 

"  And,  pray,  what  rules  would  you  have  to  govern 
the  competitors  ?"  timidly  asked  a  listener. 

"  The  steamers  should  be  absolutely  left  to  them 
selves,"  was  the  reply ;  "  though,  of  course,  at  the 
start,  proper  authorities  could  see  all  left  with  fair 
play." 

"And  then?" 

"Then  we  must  hope  that  some  or  all  of  tho 
entered  vessels  would  turn  up  at  the  finish." 

"  Exactly  !"  cried  another,  enthusiastically.  "  The 
captain  and  sailors  would  think  it  great  fun." 

"And  the  owners  of  the  ship?"  asked  the  timid 
man. 


228  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  They  could  hedge  themselves  with  insurances," 

"  And  the  passengers  ?" 

"  They  would  be  delighted  to  lighten  the  voyage 
by  making  a  perpetual  race  of  it.  Then  there  is  the 
excitement  of  betting.  It  is  likely  enough  that  we 
may  soon  see  the  ocean  odds  quoted  regularly  in 
the  sporting  columns  of  the  New  York  and  Liver 
pool  papers." 

To  this  false  but  pleasant  note  the  whole  voyage 
was  set,  and  the  expected  race  lasted  all  the  way. 
Bessie  enjoyed  it.  She  even  began  to  say  the  prac 
tice  ought  to  be  carried  out  on  the  railways.  If  it 
was  so  delightful  at  sea,  why  not  have  it  on  land  ? 
Could  anything  be  more  thrilling  than  a  couple  of 
express  trains  shooting  along  on  parallel  lines,  in  de 
rision  of  way  trains  and  cross  traffic?  And  thus 
arguing  and  joking,  she  watched  at  last  the  beauti 
ful,  low-lying  shores  of  England  appear.  Then  she 
frankly  told  her  father  that  she  liked  to  travel  with 
him.  It  was  so  nice  to  be  with  some  one  who  was 
not  afraid,  and  who  let  her  keep  on  deck  if  she 
wished,  without  regard  to  wind  or  weather. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"WHO    IS    ST.    ANGE?" 

*'  Still  from  the  fount  of  Joy's  delicious  spring 

Some  bitter  o'er  the  flowers  its  bubbling  venom  flings." 

"  Man's  love  is  of  a  man's  life  a  thing  apart; 
It  is  a  woman's  whole  existence." 

"  All  who  joy  would  win,  must  share  it ; 
Happiness  was  born  a  twin." 

The  means  by  which  Ambrosia  obtained  her  desire 
were  not  as  evident  as  they  appeared  to  be ;  and  she 
would  have  been  extremely  mortified  had  she  really 
been  aware  how  little  her  success  was  due  to  her 
personal  influence.  Robert  Carter  had  left  his  hys 
terical  wife  with  a  firm  determination  not  to  yield  to 
her  demand.  He  did  not  wish  to  go  to  Newport ;  it 
was  too  far  away  from  his  work ;  it  was  too  gay  to 
promise  him  any  rest;  it  was  an  extravagance  he 
was  not  inclined  to  sanction. 

But  what  is  a  resolve  when  circumstances  un 
looked-for  work  against  it  ?  Within  an  hour  after 
leaving  Ambrosia  he  was  visited  by  a  wealthy 
patient  who  was  going  abroad  for  three  months. 

"  And  there  is  my  house  at  Newport,"  he  said,  "  if 

[229] 


230  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

you  care  to  occupy  it,  doctor.  It  is  in  perfect  order, 
and  the  servants  will  remain.  Go  there  from  the 
middle  of  June  until  the  middle  of  September.  It 
will  do  you  good,  and  I  dare  say  we  can  easily  bal 
ance  accounts." 

The  offer  was  both  a  compliment  and  a  bargain, 
and  Doctor  Carter  accepted  it.  But  when  he  told 
Ambrosia  he  had  rented  the  Van  Super  cottage,  its 
horses,  carriages  and  servants,  he  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  state  the  particulars  of  the  transaction. 
So  Ambrosia  was  certain  that  her  charms  and  per 
sonal  power  had  obtained  her  this  glory  ;  and  Robert 
did  not  undeceive  her.  Life,  he  thought,  would 
doubtless  afford  him  plenty  of  opportunities  to 
demonstrate  to  his  wife  how  insensible  he  could 
make  himself  to  a  passion  as  familiar  as  hysteria. 
The  present  case  could  go  unchallenged. 

The  whole  position  was  a  mistake.  It  looked  a 
small  and  natural  one,  but  it  had  unapprehended  pro 
portions.  It  was  a  mistake  to  permit  Ambrosia  to 
suppose  an  unreasonable  exhibition  of  excited  feel- 
ing  had  induced  her  husband  to  submit  to  an  unrea 
sonable  request.  It  was  a  mistake  not  to  acquaint 
Ambrosia  with  the  financial  and  friendly  advantages 
which  had  induced  the  change  of  views.  He  had 
really  accepted  Newport  to  gratify  his  friend  and 
patient  more  than  to  please  his  wife  ;  but  Ambrosia 
regarded  the  concession  as  a  victory ;  and  though 
she  took  her  honors  modestly,  she  had  all  the  obvi 
ous  condescensions  and  reservations  of  abstinent 
power. 

This  tacit  deception  awakened  for  the  first  time 
in  the  doctor's  mind  a  cynical  if  not  a  contemptuous 
acceptance  of  his  wife's  efforts  to  please  him.  Am- 


"Who  is  St.  Angef'  231 

brosia  had  a  genuine  pleasure  in  his  supposed  sub 
mission  to  her  desires.  She  endeavored  to  show 
this  pleasure  in  every  womanly  way  known  to  her. 
She  was  witty  and  pretty  and  conciliating  and 
altogether  charming.  She  did  everything  that 
could  make  her  husband  understand  that  she  was 
grateful  for  the  Newport  concession.  And  Robert, 
almost  unconsciously,  had  the  feeling  of  a  man  who 
has  paid  a  price  for  his  wife's  smiles  and  affection. 
He  watched  her  and  listened  to  her,  and  was  cynical 
and  critical. 

She  was  enchanting,  not  because  she  loved  him, 
but  because  he  was  going  to  pay  her  with  Newport. 
The  small,  beautiful  deceptions  which  love  glori 
fies  no  longer  led  him  a  willing  captive.  He  found 
himself  considering  his  wife  and  her  ways  as  a 
philosopher  might  investigate  a  subject  full  of  inter 
esting  contradictions.  He  began  to  understand  why 
men  shrugged  their  shoulders  with  a"can't-be- 
helped  "  kind  of  tolerance  at  the  mention  of  wives 
or  women.  A  comic  paper  that  he  had  always 
tossed  contemptuously  aside  had  now  a  meaning  to 
him.  He  looked  at  its  domestic  pictures,  and  was 
not  astounded  at  its  great  success  any  longer.  He 
saw  that  they  spoke  for  the  married  men  of  the 
community  in  that  half-serious  and  half-comical  vein 
which  was  the  only  possible  protest  against  beings 
so  much  loved  and  so  much  disapproved. 

But  it  was  all  a  mistake.  When  a  wife  sinks  to 
this  level,  she  has  fallen  indeed.  Ambrosia's  beauty 
and  charm  were  great,  and  she  still  held  her  hus 
band  by  her  personality  ;  but  that  sweet  bond  which 
should  have  made  them  one  in  all  matters  of  busi 
ness,  which  should  have  made  Ambrosia  sympathize 


232  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

with  her  husband's  labors  and  studies,  which  should 
have  made  them  equally  interested  in  their  home 
and  all  its  domestic  details — that  sweet  bond  was 
slipped  and  loosened.  And  Ambrosia  knew  it  not. 

There  is  a  certain  fillip  to  life  in  all  changes,  and 
at  first  Robert  Carter  was  interested  by  his  new  sur 
roundings.  No  human  being  is  without  tidal  fluctua 
tions  of  some  kind,  and  these  in  the  doctor's  nature 
set  in  the  direction  of  a  purely  physical  delight  in 
drifting  and  resting.  He  permitted  himself  to  es 
cape,  to  flutter  away,  in  that  delicious  torpor  to 
which  the  sea  disposes.  He  went  into  New  York 
once  a  week,  and  looked  at  his  letters,  and  left  Doc 
tor  St.  Ange  to  look  after  any  stray  patient  there 
might  be.  And  he  had  several  of  those  foolish 
moods  in  which  men  are  under  a  passing  influence 
and  disposed  to  contradict  their  deepest  inclinations. 
He  was  living  a  life  new  to  him,  and  he  was  for  a 
moment,  now  and  then,  disposed  to  think  it  was  the 
best  life  possible.  The  wisest  men  make  such  ad 
missions  one  hour,  only  to  deny  them  the  next.  For 
a  great  deal  of  what  is  called  truth  is  truth  relatively 
to  time,  place  and  person  ;  it  may  be  true  for  one 
person  and  not  true  for  another  person  ;  true  for 
one  place  and  not  true  for  another  place  ;  true  at 
one  time  and  not  true  at  another  time.  In  a  month 
what  had  seemed  so  charming,  so  restful,  lost  all  its 
charm  and  rest,  and  the  doctor  was  ready  to  deny 
what  he  had  averred  a  week  previously.  He  had 
been  weary  ;  he  was  now  refreshed.  The  arrears  of 
nature  were  paid  up,  he  was  physically  restored,  and 
his  mental  energy  returned. 

Then  both  the  semi-torpor  and  the  social  life  dis 
pleased  him.  His  heart  turned  to  his  work.  Riding, 


"Who  is  St.  Angef"  233 

driving,  dressing,  dining,  sailing,  all  alike  were  dis 
tasteful.  Ambrosia  had  little  time  to  give  him  ;  her 
blandishments  were  mainly  used  to  induce  him  to 
be  her  escort  to  one  house  or  another  ;  her  dresses 
and  her  callers  used  every  moment.  She  had  really 
to  economize  her  time  to  portion  it  out  in  hours  and 
minutes  and  divide  them  among  yachters  and  ten 
nis-players  and  dinner-givers.  She  was  unwittingly 
serving  a  term  at  fashionable  hard  labor,  and  if  she 
had  been  forced  by  necessity  to  work  as  constantly 
for  her  daily  bread,  she  would  have  died  in  making 
her  living. 

A  very  short  time  sufficed  to  reveal  this  life  in  all 
its  barbarous  baldness  to  Robert  Carter.  Its  noise 
and  glitter  and  surface  refinement  were  at  once 
complete  and  unendurable.  He  was  too  active  a 
man  to  philosophize  about  the  things  that  did  not 
please  him,  and  too  aware  of  the  value  of  his  own 
labors,  to  spend  his  days  in  speculating  on  the 
various  ways  in  which  various  people  think  life 
worth  living.  He  felt  only  that  he  must  go  back  to, 
his  study  and  laboratory. 

But  he  said  nothing  of  this  determination.  He 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  better  to 
avoid  discussion  with  Ambrosia;  their  angles  got 
into  each  other's  way  and  provoked  friction.  And 
then  with  all  his  will  he  was  no  match  for  a  lovely 
woman  selfishly  resolved  to  have  whatever  gave  her 
honor  or  pleasure.  For  there  is  a  wonderful  power 
in  pure,  unadulterated  selfishness :  it  has  a  bull-dog 
grip,  when  it  fastens  on  any  person  or  thing.  Doc 
tor  Carter  had  come  naturally  enough  to  marital 
tactics  when  he  determined  one  day  to  remain  in 
New  York  and  send  Doctor  St.  Ange  to  Newport. 


234  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

He  went  first  to  Tiffany's  and  bought  an  extrava 
gant  ring  as  a  peace-offering.  St.  Ange  received  it 
in  charge  with  a  letter  explaining  the  dreadful  con 
dition  of  his  business ;  the  urgent  need  there  was 
for  his  presence  in  the  city  ;  his  disconsolate  condi 
tion  without  his  "  dear,  lovely  wife  ;"  and  his  promise 
to  be  in  Newport  the  following  Saturday.  He  only 
partially  succeeded  in  satisfying  Ambrosia.  She 
passed  intervals  all  the  evening  in  holding  up  her 
hand  and  delighting  her  eyes  with  the  sparkle  of 
the  gems  and  the  beauty  of  the  goldsmith's  work, 
but  she  was  not  a  woman  to  find  gems  an  equivalent 
for  love.  Robert's  desertion,  though  well  accounted 
for,  was  something  of  a  shock.  It  made  her  thought 
ful,  and  she  remained  at  home  and  wrote  a  long  and 
loving  letter  to  her  husband. 

She  also  wrote  confidentially  to  Clara.  If  the  doc 
tor  was  to  be  mostly  in  New  York,  and  St.  Ange  was 
to  be  much  in  Newport,  she  felt  she  ought  to  have 
some  companion  ;  and  who  could  be  more  desirable 
every  way  than  her  step-mother?  And  doubtless 
she  was  very  much  in  earnest  and  used  potent  argu 
ments,  for  Clara  answered  her  request  in  less  than  a 
week.  The  women  loved  each  other.  They  met 
with  that  silent  embrace  that  means  so  much,  and 
that  night  St.  Ange  was  at  perfect  liberty.  He  had 
neither  to  escort  Ambrosia  abroad  nor  to  accompany 
her  music  nor  to  write  her  notes  of  invitation  nor  to 
make  out  lists  of  duties  for  the  following  day.  He 
was  rather  glad  of  this  pause  in  events.  The  advent 
of  a  friend  so  clear-eyed  and  self-contained  as  Clara 
was  a  complication  he  did  not  like. 

It  was  a  dull,  warm,  languid  night,  and  Clara  and 
Ambrosia  sat  just  within  the  long,  open  windows 


M Who  is  St.  Anger  235 

looking  out  into  the  dark  garden.  At  the  end  of  the 
garden  was  the  sea.  They  could  hear  its  long, 
mournful  roll,  and  the  sense  of  its  gray  vastness  in 
vaded  the  room  in  which  they  were  sitting,  thought 
ful,  silent  and  sympathetic.  But  at  length  Ambrosia 
began  to  talk — to  talk  of  things  having  little  interest 
for  her,  as  was  evident  by  the  monotony  of  her 
voice. 

"  You  have  your  father  with  you  now,  I  hear, 
Clara.  How  glad  you  must  be  !" 

"  I  am  glad.  And  he  is  so  much  better  in  health. 
I  could  not  else  have  left  the  farm." 

"  I  have  longed  often  to  come  to  Mayberry  and 
see  you  and  him,  but  I  have  had  so  many  hindrances 
and  troubles." 

"  All  women  have  the  same  lament,  Amber.  When 
did  you  hear  from  Bessie  ?" 

"  A  week  ago.  Bessie  is  so  fond  of  telling  the 
world  all  about  herself  that  she  is  a  good  corre 
spondent.  They  were  at  Ambleside,  '  doing  the 
English  lake  district.'  You  know  about  the  Texan 
Madisons,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes.     She  is  to  marry  the  eldest,  I  hear." 

"  If  you  had  not  heard,  it  would  have  been  the 
marvel.  She  tells  every  one  'her  romance.'  The 
youngest  brother  has  just  been  married  to  a  very 
rich  girl,  and  they,  too,  are  in  Ambleside ;  also  the 
only  sister  of  the  family,  Miss  Louisa  Madison.  Can 
you  not  imagine  Bessie  the  active  center  of  this 
family  group  ?  However,  I  care  nothing  about  the 
Texans  if  they  do  not  get  Will  Carter  within  their 
influence." 

"  Is  Will  going  to  Ambleside  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  was  such  a  fool  as  to  tell  Bessie  his  route. 


256  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

1  wanted  Will  to  know  Bessie,  but  I  did  not  want 
Will  to  meet  Louisa  Madison ;  and  I  know  how 
readily  Americans  abroad  get  sentimental  with  other 
Americans  abroad ;  and  Bessie  told  me  that  Louisa 
was  very  beautiful.  The  first  woman  who  pays  Will 
Carter  any  attention  will  win  him.  It  is  my  opinion 
Bessie  will  try  to  make  a  marriage  between  Will  and 
her  Cousin  Louisa." 

"  I  dare  say  she  is  thinking  only  of  her  own  mar 
riage." 

"  I  know  the  probabilities  and  the  possibilities, 
Clara  \  the  lovely  scenery,  the  beautiful  twilights 
embalmed  in  jessamine,  the  moonlight  nights  by  the 
lake  shore,  all  the  exquisite  backgrounds  close  at 
hand.  And  Bessie  transacts  her  love-making  by 
United  States  mail  at  present.  Also,  she  will  be  in 
vulnerably  cold  to  all  lovers  on  her  own  account ; 
and,  therefore,  she  will  be  certain  to  meddle  with 
some  other  person's  destiny." 

"  But  why  Will  Carter's  ?  They  will  have  many 
other  friends  and  companions." 

"  Bessie  will  specially  enjoy  meddling  with  my 
friends.  She  said  to  me  one  day  :  '  You  really  ought 
to  get  Will  Carter  married,  Amber.  Both  the  brothers 
Carter  are  an  unjustifiable  proportion  of  good  luck 
for  one  girl.'  And  I  made  a  little  boast — as  any 
woman  would — of  Will's  devotion  to  me  as  his  sister ; 
and  then  Bessie  laughed  a  little.  At  that  moment, 
I  felt  a  presentiment  of  defeat  in  some  way,  and  now 
I  am  sure  of  it.  I  had  just  been  telling  her  about 
Will's  intended  trip,  and  hoping  they  would  see  each 
other  in  England,  and  so  on,  when  she  made  the  re 
mark.  I  feel  certain  now,  that  at  that  moment  she 
planned  the  meeting  between  Will  and  Louisa,  and 


"Who  is  St.  Anger  237 

the  family  party  at  the  Salutation  Inn,  Amble- 
side." 

"  And  you  think  the  result  will  be — " 

"  A  marriage  at  Grace  Church  before  Christmas. 
But  I  shall  feel  awfully  poor  and  lonely  without 
Will.  I  wish  I  had  made  more  of  him.  I  wish  I 
had  asked  him  to  stay  with  me  this  summer.  Will 
has  been  a  brother  to  me  in  every  possible  way." 

"  Have  you  heard  lately  from  Tom  ?" 

"  I  dread  to  see  his  letters.  He  is  still  in  Chicago 
— going  from  bad  to  worse." 

"  What  is  he  doing?" 

"  Playing  billiards.  I  do  not  know  of  anything 
else.  Robert  is  always  cross  when  he  sees  his  letters 
in  the  mail ;  but  then,  Robert  is  often  cross  about 
very  little." 

This  was  the  subject  to  which  both  women  had 
been  tending  in  their  hearts,  and  the  other  conver 
sation  was  merely  a  way  leading  up  to  it — a  womanly 
way,  vailed  and  indirect.  Two  men  would  have  lit 
their  cigars  and  plunged  at  once  into  the  matter  of 
anxiety.  Even  now,  Clara  hesitated  ere  she  said, 
calmly : 

"  Robert  has  so  much  to  think  about  and  to  do. 
No  wonder  he  is  nervous." 

"  He  is  not  nervous.  He  is  cross.  He  is  fonder 
of  his  studies  than  he  is  of  me.  He  would  rather  be 
in  his  laboratory  than  in  his  home." 

'"That  is  a  serious  charge  ;  and  I  think  you  are 
mistaken.  Amber." 

"  He  came  here  for  three  months ;  he  was  restless  in 
three  weeks.  In  a  month,  he  has  really  deserted  me." 

"Do  not  say  such  a  thing,  Amber.  A  man  is 
compelled  to  attend  to  his  business.  Bankers,  mer- 


238  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

chants,  lawyers,  doctors  cannot  take  the  seasons  into 
consideration.  Why,  even  some  clergymen  attend 
to  their  churches  in  the  summer." 

"  If  it  was  his  patients,  I  would  not  mind  so  much  : 
but  his  patients  are  rich  people,  and  they  are  at  their 
country  homes  or  at  Bar  Harbor  or  in  Europe  or  out 
at  sea,  yachting.  It  is  simple  study,  trying  to  find 
out  things,  and  writing,  writing,  writing  !  He  is  not 
even  making  money." 

"  My  dear,  he  is  making  fame." 

" '  Fame  !'  What  good  is  fame  ?  No  man  is  great 
in  America  until  he  dies.  While  he  is  alive  all  men 
speak  ill  of  him.  And  even  when  he  is  dead,  what 
has  he  but  a  name?  Ten  letters  is  all  our  great 
Washington  possesses." 

"Doctor  Carter  has  a  nobler  fame  in  view  than 
any  warrior  deserves.  He  is  working  to  preserve 
life,  to  avert  suffering,  to  cure  disease  by  discovering 
its  cause." 

"  And  who  will  give  him  '  thank  you  '  for  his  labor  ? 
It  is  now  the  cheap  and  frugal  fashion  rather  to  hide 
or  deny  the  obligation  than  to  pay  for  it  even  by  de 
cent  gratitude.  And  if  Robert  has  a  right  to  sacrifice 
himself,  he  has  no  right  to  offer  me  up  also  to  the 
general  good.  I  want  to  be  loved.  I  do  not  want-to 
be  the  wife  of  the  great  Doctor  Carter." 

"  My  dear  Amber,  you  are  in  a  very  critical  posi 
tion.  From  just  where  you  stand  you  can  either 
make  yourself  a  happy  and  honored  woman  or  you 
can  wreck  two  lives." 

"  I  think  it  is  a  shame — " 

"  For  once  you  must  listen  to  me.  It  is  your  vanity 
as  much  as  your  love  that  is  wounded.  You  knew 
when  you  married  Robert  how  devoted  he  was  to 


"Who  is  St.  Ange?"  239 

the  science  of  medicine.  You  said  then  you  were 
proud  of  his  reputation  and  loved  him  for  it.  He 
believed  you,  and  has  acted  upon  your  words." 

"  People  say  things  before  they  are  married  they 
do  not  really  mean.  Every  one  does.  I  thought  I 
could  make  Robert  devote  himself  entirely  to  me." 

"  And  give  up  his  profession  altogether  ?" 

"  No — not  exactly  that.  I  do  not  mind  him  at 
tending  to  his  patients.  They  pay  him  for  his  time." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  selfish,  Amber.  Suppose  he 
said  to  you  :  '  I  am  quite  willing  you  should  have  a 
splendid  home  and  even  occasionally  entertain  your 
friends  in  it,  but  I  am  not  willing  to  have  you  go  to 
the  houses  and  entertainments  of  other  people.  You 
are  my  wife,  and  you  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  my 
society.'" 

"  That  is  a  different  thing." 

"  Not  at  all.  The  private  pleasure  of  your  home 
does  not  satisfy  you.  You  wish  also  to  exhibit  your 
husband,  your  beauty  and  your  rich  costumes  in 
other  houses.  The  doctor's  patients  do  not  satisfy 
his  thirst  for  medical  knowledge.  He  wishes  to  in 
vestigate,  to  learn,  to  show  himself  in  unknown  de 
partments  of  his  profession.  You  ought  to  give  as 
well  as  take  a  certain  amount  of  freedom.  If  you 
would  keep  a  man  at  your  side,  give  him  full  liberty 
to  roam.  He  will  not  then  go  beyond  your  influence." 

"  It  is  so  easy  to  give  good  advice.  And  then  there 
is  this  Doctor  St.  Ange." 

"  Yes — I  see.    Who  is  Doctor  St.  Ange  ?" 

"  He  says  he  comes  from  New  Orleans.  He  is 
Robert's  assistant  in  surgical  and  laboratory  work. 
Do  you  like  him  ?" 

"  I  think  not.     Whv  is  he  here  ?" 


240  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  He  comes  to  see  if  I  require  anything  ;  to  escort 
me  to  any  entertainment ;  to  drive  or  sail  with  me  ; 
to  '  take  Will's  place/  as  Robert  says.  He  is  not 
always  here,  but  a  three  weeks'  vacation  in  Newport 
is  promised  him,  so  I  thought  it  best  to  have  you  at 
my  side.  The  man  is  undoubtedly  handsome  ;  and 
people  imagine  things  and  then  tell  their  own  imag 
inations." 

"  Charity  thinketh  no  evil,  Amber." 

"  The  world  thinks  nothing  else  but  evil.  And 
we  have  to  live  in  the  world.  One  thing  I  notice 
about  St.  Ange — he  gets  such  queer-looking  letters. 
I  mean  untidy,  careless  letters,  on  poor  paper.  I 
wonder  who  his  friends  are." 

"They  may  be  dunning  letters.  I  believe  it  is 
considered  vulgar  not  to  be  in  debt." 

"  Yes — and  no.  They  are  in  a  woman's  writing. 
Robert  says  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  his  letters ; 
but  I  am  sure  that  the  letters  a  man  receives  are 
quite  as  significant  of  his  real  character  as  those  he 
writes.  However,  he  is  very  handsome  and  elegant 
and  a  great  favorite  wherever  he  has  been  intro 
duced.  Mrs.  Brandan  says  the  girls  rave  about  his 
beauty  and  his  skill  at  tennis.  He  can  handle  a  bat 
or  an  oar,  and  he  can  lead  the  german,  and  he  plays 
the  violin  very  well.  Robert  says  he  catches  an 
idea  as  quickly  as  it  is  broached  ;  and  yet  the  man 
is  vulgar ;  he  is  not  refined  clean  through,  as  Will 
Carter  is.  But  you  will  observe,  Clara,  and  I  am 
sure  you  will  find  out,  what  I  cannot  find  words  of 
the  right  degree  to  explain." 

"  It  is  nearing  midnight,  also  ;  and  the  day  being 
finished,  there  is  no  medicine  for  it.  To-morrow 
will  bring  its  own  opportunities." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

*'  IF  WILL  WERE    ONLY   HERE  !" 

To  love  and  at  the  same  time  to  be  wise, 
Is  scarcely  granted  even  to  a  god. 

— Publius  Syrus, 

Love,  thou  knowest,  is  full  of  jealousy. 

— Shakespeare. 

How  poor  are  they  that  have  not  patience  ! 

— Shakespeare. 

Everything  has  a  good  and  a  bad  side,  and  Clara's 
visit  was  no  exception  to  this  general  rule.  It  was 
a  good  thing,  inasmuch  as  it  placed  the  shield  of 
impeccable  propriety  between  Ambrosia  and  a  world 
which  is  nothing  if  not  vigilantly  censorious.  It  was 
a  bad  thing,  inasmuch  as  it  gave  Robert's  conscience 
a  comfortable  excuse  for  longer  delays  in  New  York 
than  he  might  otherwise  have  taken. 

In  the  meantime,  St.  Ange  was  making  for  him 
self  an  enviable  position.  "  Doctor  Carter's  assist 
ant"  had,  to  begin  with,  a  professional  respect, 
which  naturally  implied  a  certain  social  standing, 
and  made  an  irreproachable  foundation  for  the  per 
sonal  influence  of  the  young  man.  This  was  soon 
very  pronounced.  The  married  ladies  thought  him 
so  distinguished-looking  and  so  obliging.  The  girls 


242  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

adored  his  beauty  and  grace,  his  skill  in  all  games, 
in  music  and  in  dancing.  And  he  had  the  faculty 
of  making  each  separate  girl  believe  herself  to  be 
the  sole  object  of  his  adoration.  Certainly  Doctor 
St.  Ange  was  "  the  favorite  "  of  the  season  ;  and  Am 
brosia  watched  his  tactics  and  his  successes  with  an 
interest  singularly  compounded  of  complaisance  and 
contempt. 

She  could  no  longer  complain  of  the  character  of 
his  letters,  which  were  now  a  numerous  assortment 
of  pale-tinted  notes,  delicately  monogramed  and 
sealed  with  pretty  devices.  It  was  a  sight  to  watch 
the  reception  of  these  perfumed  precursors  of  dances, 
dinners  and  flirtations,  to  watch  his  ruthless-looking 
hands  slowly  cutting  open  the  dainty  envelopes  with 
a  silver  paper-knife  ;  his  smiles  full  of  ineffable  con 
ceit  ;  his  little  shrugs  and  deprecations ;  his  soft 
sighs  of  relief  and  the  air  of  superior  satisfaction 
with  which  he  turned  to  his  breakfast  when  the 
trial  was  over. 

But,  in  spite  of  his  many  triumphs,  he  knew  that 
he  had  failed  in  interesting  Ambrosia,  and  for  this 
reason  they  were  paltry  in  his  sight.  Sometimes  he 
thought  she  actually  detested  him.  At  other  times, 
his  vanity  led  him  to  believe  that  her  heart  was 
really  his,  that  she  was  enduring  a  great  struggle, 
but  would  finally  lose  the  battle.  This  idea,  nursed 
by  his  inordinate  self-estimation  and  by  daily  little 
unavoidable  circumstances,  took  possession  of  him. 
He  permitted  it,  consciously  enough,  to  color  all  his 
actions ;  and  in  this  undefmable  way  Newport  society 
received  the  impression  that  Doctor  Carter  and  his 
wife  were  not  sympathetic.  If  Clara  had  not  been 
so  constantly  with  her  step-daughter,  it  would  prob- 


11  If  Will  Were  Only  Here!"  243 

ably  have  received  the  next  impression  that  Doctor 
St.  Ange  and  Mrs.  Carter  were  sympathetic. 

There  could  have  been  no  falser  one.  But  Am 
brosia  was  not  happy,  and  she  daily  grew  more 
weary  of  the  monotony  of  a  life  of  so-called  "  pleas 
ure."  If  her  husband  had  been  constantly  with 
her,  she  might  have  disagreed  with  him  and  felt 
him  often  to  be  tiresome  and  unkind ;  but  life 
would  have  had  a  zest  and  savor  it  totally  wanted 
without  him.  She  had,  one  morning,  a  feeling  of 
shock  when  she  remembered  how  seldom  and  how 
short  had  been  his  late  visits. 

And  society,  even  in  its  best  phase,  had  not 
turned  out  to  be  the  satisfactory  thing  she  had  antic 
ipated.  There  were  many  women  in  it  willing  to 
sacrifice  far  more  than  she  was,  and  consequently 
she  gave  too  much  and  too  little,  and  got  hardly  any 
of  the  returns  desired.  She  thought  of  her  own 
handsome  house  and  the  delightful  days  and  even 
ings  she  had  spent  in  it.  She  thought  of  her  hus 
band,  his  nobility  of  person  and  mind,  and  set  over 
against  his  image  that  of  St.  Ange,  as  she  had  just 
seen  him,  sighing  and  sipping  his  coffee  and  speak, 
ing  softly  with  a  delicious  self-conceit  of  "my  own 
fatal  beauty." 

Suddenly  she  resolved  to  return  to  New  York. 
She  wanted  to  see  her  husband. 

"  And  I  will  tell  Robert,"  she  thought,  "  that  Clara 
wants  to  go  back  to  Mayberry,  and  that  I  will  not  be 
left  here  with  St.  Ange.  I  will  tell  him  that  I  want 
my  home — yes,  that  I  want  to  be  with  him.  After 
all  there  is  no  company  like  Robert's.  Even  when 
he  is  thinking  and  silent  what  quick,  loving  glances 
he  has  given  me  !" 


244  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Clara  approved  her  resolution. 
"  You  must  resign  this  house  in  two  weeks,"  she 
said,  "  and  two  weeks  may  be  of  the  greatest  impor 
tance.  So  much  can  be  lost  or  gained  in  two  weeks. 
Go  back  to  New  York,  and  I  will  attend  to  all  that  is 
to  be  packed  and  put  in  order." 

So  Ambrosia  kissed  her  friend  and  left  Newport, 
being  more  willing  to  do  so  than  she  had  been  glad 
and  happy  to  come  to  it. 

She  was  delighted  to  see  her  own  house,  but  its 
desolate  appearance  reproached  her.  It  was  Sep 
tember,  and  the  housekeeper  ought  to  have  had'  it 
•opened  and  at  least  partially  in  order.  She  rang  the 
bell  with  some  anger,  and  was  soon  confronted  with 
her  belated  servant.  She  fancied  she  was  insolently 
indifferent.  She  was  made  to  feel  that  her  unlooked- 
for  return  before  the  time  specified  was  an  intru 
sion.  And  though  Robert  was  delighted  at  this 
intrusion,  she  thought  he  was  not  angry  enough  in 
her  anger,  that  he  deprecated  any  great  displeasure 
and  was  a  trifle  annoyed  at  Ambrosia's  complaints. 

"  Mrs.  Ryan  did  not  expect  you  for  two  weeks,  my 
•dear,"  he  said.  "You  must  make  some  allowance. 
Let  us  forget  Mrs.  Ryan  and  the  neglected  house. 
You  must  have  some  new  songs  or  some  news  that  I 
should  like  to  hear.  What  are  they  doing  now  in 
Newport  ?" 

"  Chiefly  admiring  your  favorite  St.  Ange.'' 

"  Is  that  really  so  ?  And  how  does  he  take  the 
adulation  ?" 

"  He  laments  with  a  delightful  conceit  his  unin 
tentional  fascination  and  his  '  too  fatal  beauty.' '' 

"  He  told  me  he  was  quite  an  authority  there." 

"  My  dear  Robert,  until  St.  Ange  has  given  his 


"//"  Will  Were  Only  Here  T  245 

ten-cent  utterance  about  any  entertainment,  it  is 
thought  presumptuous  for  inferior  tastes  to  offer  an 
opinion.  And  he  takes  himself  so  seriously.  It  is 
all  very  amusing,  if  it  were  not  so  monotonous." 

"  At  any  rate,  he  is  a  perfectly  safe  man  among 
ladies,  and  I  suppose  they  feel  it.  I  do  not  think  St. 
Ange  has  a  single  vice.  And  I  never  heard  anyone 
express  more  lofty  sentiments  about  women." 

"  A  modest  vice  might  be  better  than  so  much 
virtue.  St  Ange  is  always  beating  the  tom-toms  of 
his  own  conceited  excellence.  Did  you  know  he 
writes  poetry?  A  scientist  and  surgeon  writing 
poetry  !" 

"  Why  not?     Have  you  seen  any  of  it?" 

"  You  may  find  him  aiding  the  forlorn  muse  of  the 
magazines  in  '  Laments '  and  '  Voices  Out  of  the 
Darkness'  and  so  on.  He  writes  'lyrics'  also,  and 
the  girls  sing  them.  I  wish  you  could  hear  the  sing 
ing,  especially  when  he  '  assists.'  It  is  delicious." 

"  He  never  told  me  he  was  a  writer." 

"  My  dear  Robert,  every  other  person  is  a  writer. 
It  is  the  fashion  to  wear  our  hearts  on  our  sleeves 
and  ask  a  small  fee  for  their  inspection.  I  know  lots 
of  women  who,  when  they  are  weary,  write  down 
their  feelings  and  exchange  them  for  a  little  base 
coin." 

"Really?" 

"  Really.  This  is  the  age  of  confessions.  No  mat- 
ter  how  sorry  a  figure  the  inner  man  and  woman 
make,  they  must  have  their  little  exhibition." 

"And  you,  Amber?" 

"  I  make  my  little  exhibitions  to  you,  dearest." 

And  this  was  a  confession  so  charming,  given  with 
so  much  naivett  and  such  eloquent  glances,  that 


246  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Robert  Carter  was  delighted  to  receive  it.  He  felt 
at  that  hour  only  the  invincible  captivations  of  his 
wife,  and  her  very  imperfections  seemed  a  part  of 
them. 

It  is  not  often  that  events  come  to  our  expecta 
tions  ;  but  Ambrosia  was  satisfied  with  the  result  of 
her  unexpected  move.  The  next  few  days  she  was 
busily  engaged  in  the  ordering  of  her  house,  and 
during  this  time  she  had  a  unique  and  very  novel 
pleasure — she  had  her  husband  entirely  to  herself. 
They  were  quite  alone  for  the  first  time  since  they 
had  commenced  housekeeping.  It  was  like  a  second 
honeymoon.  The  trouble  is  that  human  nature  can 
not  long  keep  up  to  its  highest  points  under  any 
emotion,  and  that  custom  dulls  the  sweetest  joy. 
Ambrosia  noticed  the  slightest  subsidence  in  her 
husband's  feeling,  before  she  herself  was  conscious 
of  the  least. 

One  morning,  a  week  after  her  return,  Robert,  in 
leaving  the  house,  said  to  the  housekeeper  : 

"  Mrs.  Ryan,  tell  Meta  not  to  come  to  the  office 
to-day." 

Ambrosia,  who  had  just  opened  the  door  in  order 
to  go  upstairs  and  make  a  street-toilet,  heard  the 
words  distinctly.  She  thought  there  was  something 
less  formal  in  the  tone  than  a  mere  order  to  a  do 
mestic  warranted.  And  who  was  Meta  ?  No  servant 
of  that  name  was  in  her  employ.  Yet  Robert  spoke 
as  if  "  Meta  "  were  a  regular  member  of  the  house 
hold. 

She  was  annoyed  and  troubled  by  the  circumstance 
and  she  sat  down  again  to  think  it  over.  Her  first 
natural  thought  was  to  ring  for  Mrs.  Ryan  and  ask 
her  about  "  Meta."  She  put  it  aside  immediately. 


"ff  Will  Were  Only  Here!"  247 

The  question  would  show  a  servant  that  Doctor  Car- 
ter  did  not  altogether  rely  on  his  wife.  She  could 
not  endure  the  humiliation  of  such  a  position.  It 
would  be  best  to  ask  her  husband  for  the  informa 
tion,  and  she  resolved  to  do  so  that  very  evening. 

But  she  fell  into  the  snare  of  her  sex's  weakness, 
and  instead  of  a  plain,  direct  question,  she  went  on 
her  search  by  devious  ways.  She  asked  if  he  had 
been  informed  of  the  changes  during  the  summer ; 
if  there  had  been  any  trouble  among  the  girls,  etc., 
etc.  She  tried  to  get  under  and  around  the  person 
called  Meta  without  the  slightest  effort.  The  doctor 
answered  her  questions  with  precisely  the  air  of  an 
innocent  and  non-interested  man. 

The  shadowy  Meta  troubled  the  peace  of  the  even 
ing.  Ambrosia  had  a  feeling  of  resentment.  She 
had  "  led  up  "  to  a  point  so  frequently,  where  the 
doctor  must  have  remembered  Meta,  and  yet  he  gave 
no  information  about  her.  The  circumstance  de 
pressed  her.  She  could  not  talk  or  sing  or  rise  to 
any  level  from  which  it  was  possible  to  command 
her  husband's  sole  attention.  He  finally  took  a  book 
and  began  to  read  and  make  notes,  and  Ambrosia 
sank  down  among  the  satin  cushions  of  the  sofa  and 
pretended  to  go  to  sleep. 

In  the  morning  there  was  the  same  politeness,  the 
same  inertia,  the  same  broken  sympathy.  The  doc 
tor  thought  his  wife  was  in  one  of  her  disagreeable 
moods.  He  advised  her  to  take  a  certain  medicine 
and  kissed  her  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  at  once 
tolerant  and  grieved.  Ambrosia  thought  her  hus 
band  was  deceiving  her.  He  knew  something  about 
a  person  called  Meta,  and  he  had  not  told  her,  though 
she  had  exhausted  confidence,  so  far  as  her  own 


248  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

affairs  were  concerned.  And  as  she  truly  loved  him, 
she  was  wounded  by  his  thoughtlessness — if  it  was 
not  something  worse  than  thoughtlessness. 

As  the  doctor  left  the  house,  she  walked  to  a  win 
dow  looking  on  to  the  side-street,  and  from  which 
point  it  was  possible,  by  an  effort,  to  see  the  door  of 
the  office  and  laboratory.  It  was  almost  an  instinct 
to  watch  him  thus  far ;  she  had  done  so  ever  since 
they  were  married.  Her  eyes  fell  instantly  on  a 
young  woman,  and  the  conviction  jumped  to  her 
heart  that  the  young  woman  was  Meta.  The  doctor 
was  close  behind  her.  Ambrosia  watched  them 
breathlessly.  The  doctor  walked  with  his  usual 
firm,  rapid  tread.  The  girl  slightly  loitered.  Just 
before  the  office  was  reached  they  met.  The  doctor 
had  the  key  in  his  hand,  but  the  door  was  already 
open,  and  they  went  in  together. 

Then  Ambrosia  felt  as  if  there  was  a  fire  in  her 
heart.  She  could  not  breathe  freely  ;  a  strong  hand 
grasped  her  by  the  throat.  The  hysterical  symp 
toms,  so  often  encouraged,  advanced  now  without 
invitation  and  without  welcome.  She  stood  still 
resolutely  and  arrested  her  soul  and  bade  it  be 
strong.  Though  but  blindly  and  falteringly,  she 
yet  forced  her  feet  to  carry  her  to  the  medicine 
appointed  for  such  a  crisis,  for  she  was  resolved  to 
conquer  the  weakness  by  which  she  was  assailed. 
A  long  time  she  was  on  the  verge  of  defeat,  but 
finally  she  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

It  lasted  some  hours,  and  when  it  was  over  she 
found  it  had  "  brought  healing  on  its  wings."  She 
was  able  to  think.  She  was  able  to  feel,  not  in  one 
overwhelming  wave  of  confused  emotion,  but  in  dis 
tinct  lines.  She  looked  at  the  circumstance  in  every 


"If  Will   Were  Only  Here!"  249 

light  and  every  likelihood,  and  excuse  was  over 
thrown  by  the  fact  that  Robert  had  not  told  her. 
At  length  she  determined  to  go  to  the  laboratory. 
She  glanced  at  a  timepiece.  The  hours  for  patients 
were  long  over.  The  office  would  doubtless  be 
cleaned  and  locked.  If  Meta  was  a  patient,  she 
would  not  be  there.  But  if  she  had  any  other  busi 
ness  with  the  doctor,  she  would  be  in  the  laboratory, 
which  was  situated  above  the  office. 

In  the  early  days  of  their  married  life,  Robert  had 
given  her  a  key  of  these  rooms,  and  she  had  often 
gone  there  an  hour  before  dark  and  persuaded  him 
to  ride  or  walk  with  her.  But  she  found  at  last  that 
the  smell  of  the  gases  and  chemicals  made  her  sick  ; 
and  the  doctor  had  promised  to  reverse  the  order 
and  come  for  her.  He  did  so  for  a  little  time,  and 
then  the  custom,  for  various  reasons,  fell  into  disuse, 
as  all  over-drafts  upon  affection  must  surely  do. 

She  looked  now  for  the  forgotten  key,  and  found 
it  in  the  top  drawer  among  the  soiled  gloves  and 
odds  and  ends  of  lace  and  ribbons,  broken  fans  and 
crumpled  programmes  that  are  usually  the  contents 
of  that  receptacle.  Then  she  dressed  herself  with  a 
tasteful  attention.  She  had  no  plan  beyond  this  in 
vasion  of  her  husband's  sanctum  and  her  own  beau 
tiful  toilet.  But  she  had  a  great  faith  in  her  personal 
influence  and  a  great  confidence  in  beauty  adorned 
as  its  most  effective  ally. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening,  and  she  assured  herself 
that  Robert  would  think  her  idea  of  a  stroll  before 
dinner  a  good  one.  With  a  good  deal  of  affected  con 
fidence,  she  turned  the  corner  and  went  to  the  office- 
door.  It  was  open.  She  needed  not  to  have  looked 
for  the  key.  The  reception-room  and  the  doctor's 


250  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

office  had  been  put  in  order,  and  the  woman  who 
attended  to  this  business  had  gone  away.  Then  she 
went  upstairs.  There  was  a  small  room  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs,  and  a  boy  looked  out  of  it.  Ambrosia 
did  not  know  him.  He  was  washing  bottles  and 
other  glass  vessels,  and  he  wore  a  black  apron. 

Ambrosia  asked  him  if  Doctor  Carter  was  in  the 
laboratory,  and  with  a  touch  of  pride  said  she  was 
Mrs.  Carter.  The  boy  answered  :  "  The  doctor  is 
all  right.  He  is  in  the  big  room  ;"  and  then  he 
screwed  his  mouth  to  one  side  and  looked  at  Am 
brosia,  as  if  he  thought  she  was  taking  Mrs.  Carter's 
name  in  vain.  She  did  not  see  the  look,  and  the 
next  moment  she  had  opened  the  door  of  the  big 
room. 

The  scene  in  its  most  trifling  details  was  instantly 
photographed  on  her  vision  and  memory.  Doctor 
Carter  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  door,  talk 
ing  in  a  low,  monotonous  voice.  Meta  was  sitting 
at  a  table,  writing  down  in  stenographic  signs  the 
matter  of  his  talk ;  and  Doctor  St.  Ange,  with  his 
sleeves  rolled  up  to  his  elbows,  was  putting  some 
thing  strange  into  a  chemical  bath.  Ambrosia 
looked  steadily  at  Meta  for  a  moment.  The  girl 
was  beautiful,  and  she  took  the  look  with  the  utter 
most  unconcern.  Then  Ambrosia  spoke  to  her  hus 
band  in  a  charming  tone,  and  the  doctor  turned 
slowly  round  and  seemed  for  a  moment  dazed  by 
the  interruption.  He  had  to  make  an  effort  to 
change  the  scientist  into  the  husband  ;  but  he  made 
it  with  a  grand  condescension,  and  then  instantly 
dismissed  his  assistants,  but  St.  Ange  managed  to 
drive  home  to  Ambrosia's  heart,  with  a  single  pity 
ing  look,  a  suspicion  cruel  as  death. 


"If  Will  Were  Only  Here!"  251 

Then  the  walk  which  was  the  ostensible  cause  of 
the  visit  was  taken.  It  was  not  a  thing  to  be  re 
peated.  Robert  tried  to  be  interested,  Ambrosia 
tried  to  be  amusing ;  but  when  a  man  has  a  medical- 
science  paper  on  his  mind,  how  can  any  woman 
charm  him,  charm  she  never  so  wisely  ?  Ambrosia 
saw  that  all  her  bright  sayings  lost  their  wit  in  the 
unresponsive  mental  atmosphere.  They  were  not 
seen  through  at  all,  or  they  were  recognized  so  late 
as  to  have  lost  their  point,  or  they  were  taken  seri 
ously  and  disputed. 

Also  the  east  wind  rose  and  the  dust  came  in  un 
pleasant  swirls.  It  blinded  their  eyes  and  soiled 
Ambrosia's  delicate  cloth  costume.  It  looked  a  long 
way  home.  A  cab  seemed  better  than  the  walk  back 
again.  Ambrosia  said  so,  and  Robert  gladly  indorsed 
the  opinion.  "  The  wind  is  so  unpleasant,"  he  added, 
in  excuse,  and  Ambrosia  answered  : 

"  It  is.  Every  second  girl  you.  meet  is  holding  her 
hat  on.  The  walk  has  been  a  failure." 

And  she  felt  cross  at  the  failure,  though  it  was 
but  a  natural  sequence.  Who  can  bring  back  a 
pleasure  when  the  time  for  it  has  been  outlived? 
Does  the  violet  expect  a  second  spring,  or  the  rose 
try  to  renew  its  June  in  September  ?  Only  men  and 
women  fancy  they  may  recapture  the  glory  of  their 
first  day  of  love  by  such  mechanical  aids  as  visiting 
the  same  scenes  or  doing  the  same  things.  The  ride 
home  was  silent.  Robert  was  trying  to  catch  the 
thread  of  an  argument  Ambrosia's  entrance  had 
broken ;  and  Ambrosia  was  thinking  of  the  girl 
Meta  watching  her  husband's  face  for  the  words  she 
was  to  transcribe,  and  perhaps  even  more  of  that 
rapid,  intelligent  glance  which  St.  Ange  had  sent 


252  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

through  her  eyes  into  her  heart,  making  it  quake 
with  an  angry  apprehension. 

Dinner  did  little  to  relieve  the  tension.  St.  Ange 
was  present,  and  each  had  an  unshared  thought  to 
preoccupy  his  or  her  mind.  All  Ambrosia's  remarks, 
however  witty  or  wise,  were  like  words  out  of  sea 
son.  St.  Ange  let  them  drop — perhaps  purposely. 
The  doctor  made  spasmodic  efforts  to  appreciate  at 
least  their  intent,  and  then  there  was  again  a  pause. 
When  St.  Ange  left,  Ambrosia  had  become  reckless. 
Right  time  or  wrong  time,  she  was  determined  to 
know  all  about  the  girl  in  the  laboratory. 

"  Who  is  that  girl  I  saw  in  your  office  this  after 
noon,  Robert?  You  never  .named  her  to  me." 

"  She  is  a  granddaughter  of  Mrs.  Ryan's." 

He  was  writing  something  on  a  slip  of  paper.  Her 
looked  up  to  answer  the  question  and  then  began  to 
write  again.  It  is  difficult  to  question  a  man  lost  in 
an  alien  subject,  but  Ambrosia  was  becoming  every 
moment  more  and  more  resolved  to  have  her  suspi 
cions  attended  to. 

"  Put  down  your  writing  and  talk  to  me,  Robert. 
I  am  curious  about  the  girl.    How  did  you  come  to 
know  her?" 
l    He  answered  with  some  vexation  : 

"  Oh,  in  the  most  natural  way  in  the  world.  I  ad 
vertised  for  a  stenographer.  I  told  Mrs.  Ryan  that 
I  had  done  so,  and  that  there  might  be  a  number  of 
persons  to  see  me  between  five  and  six  o'clock  about 
the  position.  She  said  instantly  she  had  a  grand 
daughter  staying  with  her  who  was  an  expert  and 
out  of  employment,  and  would  I  please  give  her  a 
trial.  The  girl  was  there  ready  to  begin  work.  I 
tried  her  all  day  and  found  her  singularly  satisfac- 


•'//  Will  Were  Only  Here!"  253 

tory.  Indeed,  I  might  seek  New  York  through  and 
not  come  across  another  woman,  or  even  man,  so 
quick  to  catch  my  ideas  and  so  able  to  transfer  them. 
I  consider  Meta  a  great  help,  a  find,  a  treasure  in 
her  duties." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  about  her  ?" 

"  I  never  thought  it  would  concern  or  interest  you. 
I  have  changed  my  boy  four  times  since  Peterhoff 
first  opened  the  office  for  you.  I  never  thought  of 
telling  you  I  had  done  so." 

"  This  girl  is  different." 

"  No.  She  is  simply  a  part  of  my  business  arrange 
ments.  You  do  not  interest  yourself  about  them. 
The  office  has  been  refurnished.  I  never  told  you 
of  that  change.  I  have  a  variety  of  new  instruments, 
retorts,  etc.  I  have  a  new  clerk  in  the  lower  office. 
I  never  told  you  of  these  changes.  Meta  is  of  the 
same  kind." 

"  Robert,  I-wish  you  would  get  a  man  in  Meta's 
place.  I  will  tell  you  the  truth  :  I  am  unhappy  to 
have  any  woman  so  near  to  you — a  pretty  young 
woman,  too." 

"  Now  you  are  jealous,  Amber  ;  and  it  is  a  con 
temptible  passion,  because  I  give  you  no  cause — not 
the  slightest." 

"  I  am  jealous.  I  confess  it,  Robert.  How  would 
you  like  some  handsome  man  sitting  with  me  hours 
at  a  time,  watching  my  eyes  and  my  lips  for  every 
word  I  speak  ?" 

"  Has  not  the  delightful  St.  Ange  been  with  you 
constantly,  playing  to  your  playing,  singing  to  your 
singing,  dancing  with  you,  reading  with  you  ?" 

"  I  would  have  been  better  pleased  if  you  had  ob 
jected  to  such  familiarity.  I  hate  the  man.  I  took 


254  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

precious  good  care  that  he  was  never  alone  with  me. 
If  you  are  jealous — I  repeat  your  own  words — it  is  a 
contemptible  passion,  for  I  give  you  no  cause,  not 
the  slightest." 

"  I  have  not  accused  you.  I  do  not  object  to  St. 
Ange  being  with  you.  I  have  perfect  confidence  in 
you.  Give  me  the  same  honorable  privileges  I  give 
you." 

"  I  wish  you  did  accuse  me.  I  wish  you  loved  me 
well  enough  to  be  afraid  of  my  love,  to  be  careful 
and  grudging  a  little  of  my  society.  If  you  will 
insist  on  having  this  girl,  in  spite  of  my  entreaties 
to  dismiss  her,  then  you  must  keep  her  with  the 
knowledge  that  you  make  me  miserable  in  do 
ing  so." 

"  Amber,  there  is  a  line  of  limitations  even  be 
tween  a  man  and  his  wife — points  a  husband  is  not 
called  upon  to  yield — points  a  wife  may  lawfully 
hold  sacredly  personal.  I  make  that  line  at  my 
office  door.  Whatever  touches  my  profession  is 
sacredly  personal  to  me.  I  will  be  the  sole  judge  of 
its  propriety.  I  will  not  allow  even  you  to  alter  or 
to  advise  or  to  interfere  in  any  way." 

"  1  shall  dismiss  Mrs.  Ryan  to-morrow." 

"  You  will  do  precisely  as  you  wish  in  all  house 
hold  arrangements.  The  house  is  your  kingdom. 
In  it  you  may  be  as  autocratic  as  you  desire.  You 
may  remember,  however,  that  Mrs.  Ryan  is  hired 
by  the  year  and  that  you  must  pay  her  wages  to  the 
ist  of  next  March,  whether  you  keep  her  or  not." 

"  To-morrow  she  leaves  my  house." 

"  To-morrow  you  will  think  better  of  the  case. 
You  will  tell  yourself  Mrs.  Ryan  would  like  nothing 
better  than  to  be  dismissed  with  her  full  wages,  and 


"f/  Will  Were  Only  Here!"  255 

you  will  make  her  stay  and  earn  her  money.  Why 
should  you  keep  her  in  idleness  for  six  months  ?" 

"  Robert !  Dear  Robert !  Send  Meta  away — just 
to  please  me  !  Say  it  is  a  whim  of  mine — an  unrea 
sonable  whim,  if  you  like — but  do  send  her  away  !" 

"  When  she  has  done  the  work  for  which  I  hired 
her." 

"  To-morrow,  Robert !  To-morrow  !  I  shall  be  ill ! 
I  shall  go  insane  !" 

"  Oh,  no  !    You  have  too  much  good  sense." 

"  I  wish  Will  were  here'!" 

"  I  wish  he  were,  with  all  my  heart.  Now,  Amber, 
I  have  a  most  important  subject  on  my  mind,  and  I 
positively  refuse  to  be  further  disturbed.  I  can  tell 
you  that  I  would  not  have  left  it  for  any  human  be 
ing  but  yourself,  this  afternoon.  No,  I  would  not. 
If  the  President  of  the  United  States  had  asked  me 
to  walk  with  him,  I  would  have  excused  myself.  No 
one  but  a  woman  and  wife  would  have  put  herself 
and  her  pleasure  before  such  universal  interests  as 
now  occupy  my  mind." 

"  You  should  have  told  me  about  the  '  universal 
interests.'  And,  perhaps,  a  little  confidence  and  ex 
planation  might  have  made  Meta  more  endurable." 

"  '  Confidence  and  explanation '  is  a  new  fad  with 
you,  as  regards  my  office.  You  never  asked  it  be 
fore." 

"  In  your  office  arrangements  there  was  never  a 
pretty  young  woman  before,  that  I  knew  of.  But  I 
shall  never  call  for  you  any  more." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not,  Amber.  Outside  my  office 
and  my  work,  I  am  your  devoted  lover  and  friend. 
That  ought  to  content  any  reasonable  wife." 

"  And  Meta  is  to  be  your  companion  in  your  work. 


256  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

^o  reasonable  wife  would  submit  to  such  condi 
tions." 

"  The  girl  Meta  is  but  an  implement.  You  may 
as  well  be  jealous  of  my  lancets  and  microscopes, 
my  pens,  ink  and  paper.  I  will  discuss  the  subject 
no  longer.  It  is  a  very  silly  subject,  as  I  under 
stand  it." 

Then  he  lifted  some  books  and  went  with  them  to 
the  library,  and  Amber  sat  still  in  the  lonely  splen 
dor  of  the  drawing-room.  She  was  not  very  jealous, 
but  she  burned  with  the  idea  that  her  servants  were 
aware  of  the  position,  and  that  the  vulgarity  of  their 
natures  would  lead  them  to  conclude  she  was  de 
serted  by  her  husband  for  a  girl  of  their  own  class. 
Meta  had  doubtless  told  her  grandmother  of  Mrs. 
Carter's  visit  to  the  office,  and  Amber  was  sure  the 
girl  divined,  not  only  her  suspicions,  but  also  the 
doctor's  reluctance  to  leave  his  work.  She  imagined 
all  that  St.  Ange  would  imply  by  his  lifted  eyebrows 
and  his  deprecating  smiles.  She  felt  certain,  at  that 
very  moment,  the  kitchen  forces  were  aware  that 
the  doctor  had  gone  to  the  library,  because  he  had 
quarreled  with  her  about  the  girl  Meta.  She  had 
been  wounded  by  the  hand  that  should  have  upheld 
her,  wounded  for  the  laughter  and  triumph  of  her 
servants,  men  and  women.  This  was  the  bitterness 
of  the  trial. 

Yet  it  is  but  fair  to  say  that  Robert  never  thought 
of  his  refusal  in  this  light.  Men  are  incapable  of 
feeling  these  small  stings  and  flings  of  wrong,  and 
they  cannot  comprehend  the  cruel,  piercing  hurt 
they  inflict  on  women.  If  Ambrosia  had  explained 
this  feeling  he  would  have  smiled  and  said :  "  My 
dear  wife,  what  can  it  possibly  matter  to  you  how 


"If  Will  Were  Only  Here  T  257 

your  servants  talk  or  what  they  think  of  you  ?  Send 
them,  away  if  they  annoy  you."  The  housekeeper's 
calm  look  of  triumph  ;  the  housemaid's  insolent  flip 
with  the  feather-brush  ;  the  little  scornful  laugh  with 
which  two  talking  servants  separated  on  her  ap 
proach.  A  score  of  such  contemptible  signs  of  vul 
gar  triumph  were  evident  to  Ambrosia ;  but  they 
were  of  that  cruel  class  of  wrongs  which  can  never 
be  spoken  of.  The  giver  of  them  is  panoplied  by 
their  very  doubtfulness  and  insignificance.  They 
could  be  denied,  and  then  how  foolish  would  the 
complainer  appear?  They  could  be  imputed  to  an 
other  source  or  motive,  and  then  who  would  like  to 
be  put  in  the  position  of  appropriating  insults  not 
intended  for  them  ? 

In  these  sorrowful  days  the  thought  of  Will  Carter 
continually  haunted  Ambrosia.  If  only  Will  had 
been  at  her  side  !  Will  was  not  too  great  and  wise 
to  understand  the  trifles  that  make  up  a  woman's 
joy  or  misery.  She  could  have  talked  to  Will  about 
the  servants  and  about  St.  Ange's  indefinable  airs 
of  sympathy.  For  since  he  had  given  her  that  look 
of  intelligence  in  the  office,  he  had  assumed  an 
understanding  which  he  expressed  by  sighs,  by 
excessive  thoughtfulness  for  her  personal  comforts 
and  by  a  sad,  condoling  look  in  his  wide-open  com 
passionate  dark  eyes.  When  alone  with  her,  he 
affected  the  manner  of  a  man  in  the  presence  of  a 
crushing  sorrow ;  and  if  she  resented  this  attitude 
by  a  show  of  happiness,  then  he  smiled  with  that, 
sorrowful  appreciation,  which  is  given  to  a  brave 
heart  dissembling  its  wrongs  and  suffering. 

"  If  Will  would  only  come !  Will  would  notice 
this  covert  impertinence.  Will  would  understand 


258  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

her  grave  annoyance  at  such  behavior.     Will  would 
find  some  way  of  making  Robert  respect  her  feel 
ings  both  about  St.  Ange  and  the  girl  Meta.    Robert 
was  different.     He  had  that  large,  intense  character 
which  can  only  occupy  itself  with  facts.     Ambrosia 
had  always  found  her  complaints  of  St.  Ange's  offi- 
ciousness   treated  with    indifference.     Robert   had 
smiled   at  her  supersensitiveness  or  said   what   a 
prejudiced  little  woman  she  was  or  assured  her  he 
was  not  one  of  those  husbands  who  wanted  her  to 
prove  her  love  for  him  by  treating  all  other  men 
badly  ;  or  he  might  be  a  bit  scornful  and  remind 
her  how  great  a  favorite  St.  Ange  was  with  many 
lovely  young  ladies,  and,  therefore,  hardly  likely  to 
be  thinking  of  her  at  all.     She  had  never  been  able 
to   rouse   the  least   suspicion   or  annoyance  at  St. 
Ange's  ways ;  and  really  his  offenses  were  things 
not   easily  explainable.     If    put   into  words,   they 
sounded  trivial  enough  to  provoke  a  smile.     And 
Robert  was  so  accustomed  to   arguing  only  from 
strict  certainties  that  smiles,  looks  and  even  words, 
which  might  be   taken   in    a    great  many  senses, 
appeared  to  him  hardly  worthy  of  notice. 

If  Will  would  only  come  !  She  remembered  now 
often,  sadly  enough,  how  little  she  had  valued  Will's 
devotion  ;  how  often  she  had  made  him  feel  that  his 
effusive  affection  was  a  little  of  a  bore.  She  recalled 
now,  with  an  irrepressible  gasp  of  shame,  how  often 
Will  had  gone  away  from  her  presence  to  his  com 
forting  organ  with  his  cheeks  flushed  with  wounded 
love  and  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  called  there  by  her 
scornful  acceptance  of  some  brotherly  offering  or 
some  pitiless  criticism  of  his  personal  appearance. 
But  if  he  would  only  come  again,  she  would  never 


"If  Will  Were  Only  Here!"  259 

more  wound  his  kind  heart.  She  could  tell  Will  all. 
She  knew  Will  would  fight  her  battles,  small  or 
great.  How  often  he  had  stayed  from  the  "  meet 
ings  "  in  which  he  delighted,  only  to  please  her ! 
How  often  he  had  silenced  his  organ  because  she 
was  nervous  !  How  often,  how  very  often,  he  had 
forgotten  his  own  desires  in  gratifying  hers !  His 
absence  had  taught  her  his  value.  When  he  came 
back,  she  would  love  and  trust  him,  as  he  deserved 
to  be  loved  and  trusted. 

Alas  !  This  good  resolution  was  among  the  many 
good  ones  that  come  too  late.  Will  had  found  a  new 
love — an  absorbing  love — a  love  to  which  his  sis 
terly  love  for  Ambrosia  was  as  the  dawn  is  to  the 
noonday.  Will  had  met  Louisa  Madison,  and  Louisa 
had  appreciated,  at  their  full  value,  qualities  which 
Ambrosia  had  held  so  cheaply. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

WILL'S    MARRIAGE. 

Hanging  and  wiving  goes  by  destiny. 

— Shakespeare. 

An  thou  canst  not  smile  as  the  wind  sits,  thou  'It  take  cold 
shortly. 

Every  time 
Serves  for  the  matter  that  is  then  born  in  't. 

— Shakespeare. 

It  was  Bessie's  doing,  of  course.  Ambrosia  had 
divined  truly  enough  the  trend  of  Bessie's  inten 
tions,  for  they  were  very  natural  ones.  Her  own 
love  affairs  being  so  definitely  and  delightfully  fixed, 
why  should  she  not  attend  a  little  to  the  love  affairs 
of  others  ?  And  as  the  circle  of  her  acquaintances 
in  England  was  limited,  she  thought  at  once  of 
Louisa  and  then  of  Will  Carter,  and  she  resolved  to 
be  an  angel  to  them. 

It  gave  her  some  trouble.  She  had  to  find  out  the 
whereabouts  of  James  and  his  bride  and  sister,  and 
when  this  was  done,  to  look  after  Will.  It  was  her 
plan  to  bring  all  to  Ambleside  about  the  middle  of 
August.  The  beauty  of  the  English  lakes  in  that 
month  was  excuse  enough ;  and  as  she  was  a  posi- 
[260] 


Will's  Marriage.  261 

tive  and  persistent  correspondent,  she  managed  to 
get  her  way,  with  such  a  slight  variation  as  turned 
out  to  be  propitious  to  her  intentions.  The  Texas 
party  was  on  time.  Will  Carter  was  behind  it.  But 
Louisa  gladly  accepted  Bessie's  invitation  to  remain 
with  her,  and  let  James  and  Azalia  pursue  travel 
alone. 

"  And  I  call  your  invitation  a  godsend,"  said 
Louisa,  "  for  if  there  is  a  purgatory  on  earth  it  is  the 
constant  society  of  the  freshly  married.  Azalia 
thinks  the  world  was  made  for  James  and  herself, 
and  she  is  astounded  if  every  one  else  does  not  also 
think  so.  The  way  they  '  my  loved  '  and  '  my  dar- 
linged '  one  another  gave  me  a  nausea.  I  hope  I 
shall  have  a  little  common  decency  if  I  ever  do  take 
a  wedding  trip." 

"  I  noticed  their  '  enwrapped '  condition,"  said 
Bessie,  scornfully.  "  The  creatures  are  abnormal. 
No  ordinary  fools  are  quite  as  much  fools  as  James 
and  Azalia  are." 

"  They  are  going  to  Switzerland  first." 

"  Let  us  hope  the  hotel  bills  and  the  glaciers  may 
turn  their  conversation  from  '  I '  and  '  we  '  a  little." 

"  They  never  bought  me  any  dresses  or  fal-f als.  I 
expected  James  to  be  selfish.  But  Azalia  was  selfish 
also.  However,  women  have  as  much  right  to  be 
selfish  as  men  have." 

"  Certainly  ;  but  a  woman  honors  her  right  most 
by  waiving  it.  That  is  what  I  think.  I  had  a  letter 
from  Will  Carter  this  afternoon.  I  am  glad  he  did 
not  come  while  the  bride  and  bridegroom  occupied 
all  Windermere  and  the  boats  and  the  beauties 
thereof.  Will  is  not  selfish.  He  is  real  good  every 
way." 


262  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  I  hope  he  is  not  handsome.  I  am  worn  out  with 
handsome  men." 

"  Will  is  not  considered  handsome." 

"  Is  he  tall  ?" 

"  No.  Will  is  of  medium  height,  but  he  walks 
lightly.  He  is  animated  and  frankly  American.  His 
face  does  not  take  shadows,  and  there  is  such  a  light 
in  his  eyes  that  you  never  notice  how  he  looks  nor 
yet  how  he  is  dressed." 

"  But  I  dare  say  he  will  notice  how  we  are  dressed." 

"  Indeed  he  will !  He  has  been  used  to  living  with 
well-dressed  women.  I  do  not  mean  with  women 
'  upholstered  '  by  their  modistes  in  satin  or  tweed, 
in  blue  or  green,  but  women  artistically  and  suitably 
robed." 

"  What  time  will  he  arrive  ?" 

"  About  nine  this  evening.  So  you  can  make  a 
fine  evening  toilet  for  a  first  appearance." 

"  And  I  need  not  disappoint  uncle.  I  promised  to 
go  on  the  lake  with  him  this  afternoon." 

"Even  if  you  do  that,  I  would  prepare  for  the 
unexpected.  Wear  that  pretty  boating-dress  you 
had  made  in  London  for  Henley.  Will  might  hap 
pen  earlier.  All  men  have  uncertainties." 

The  provision  turned  out  to  be  a  wise  one.  When 
Louisa  returned  to  the  little  pier,  after  two  hours' 
char-fishing,  she  saw  Bessie  waiting  there  for  her. 
By  Bessie's  side  stood  a  slight  young  man,  who,  even 
at  a  distance,  impressed  an  observer  with  the  idea 
of  gentlemanly  good-nature.  He  was  holding  Bes 
sie's  parasol  and  talking  merrily  to  her.  As  the 
boat  came  close  to  land,  the  sound  of  their  voices 
and  their  low  laughter  rippled  and  mingled  with 
the  ripple  and  plash  of  the  water  from  the  dripping 


WiU's  Marriage.  263 

oars ;  and  as  soon  as  Will  saw  there  was  a  lady  in 
the  boat,  his  first  natural  instinct  was  to  assist  her. 

With  a  pleasant  "  Excuse  me,"  to  Bessie,  he  was 
at  the  boat-edge  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  Louisa, 
even  while  he  was  greeting  Mr.  Madison.  Louisa 
laid  her  hand  in  Will's  hand ;  their  eyes  met ;  then 
Will's  fell  to  the  slight  gangway  on  which  Louisa's 
feet  were  cautiously  stepping.  They  were  lovely 
feet,  exquisitely  dressed  in  silk  stockings  of  gen 
darme  blue,  met  by  dark-blue  shoes  with  straps 
across  the  instep. 

As  soon  as  these  pretty,  hesitating  feet  had  set 
themselves  safely  upon  dry  land,  Bessie  went  to  her 
cousin's  side  and  introduced  Will  Carter  to  her. 
That  ceremony  was  all  that  was  necessary.  In 
another  moment,  Will  was  holding  Louisa's  parasol 
and  talking  to  the  lovely  water-nymph  ;  for  Louisa 
had  the  special  charm  of  putting  men  thoroughly  at 
ease  by  simply  allowing  them  to  do  all  and  say  all 
there  was  to  do  and  say.  She  gave  herself  up  to 
Will  as  it  were — allowed  him  to  wipe  a  few  drops 
of  water  from  her  blouse  with  his  silk  kerchief,  took 
the  side  of  the  road  he  suggested,  let  him  carry  on 
the  conversation,  accepting  all  his  opinions  and 
encouraging  him  to  give  them  with  the  sweetest  of 
smiles  and  the  most  kindly  glances  from  her  dark  eyes. 

Will  thought  the  walk  from  the  pier  to  the  hotel 
an  absurdly  short  one.  This  delightful  girl  in  a 
gendarme-blue  Henley  suit,  with  its  corn-colored 
blouse,  charmed  him.  Never  before  had  he  felt  so 
much  at  his  ease  with  a  stranger.  Perhaps  for  the 
first  time  in  all  his  life  he  had  a  sense  of  having 
done  himself  complete  justice.  The  calmness  of 
Louisa  had  permitted  him  to  be  calm,  to  keep  his 


264  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

speech,  his  hands,  his  feet,  all  well  in  control.  He 
had  said  nothing  foolish ;  he  had  done  nothing  he 
wished  undone. 

^       "  She  is  the  most  delightful  girl  I  ever  met  in-  my 
l  life,"  he  said,  with  a  happy  confidence,  to  Bessie. 

"  She  has  fine  eyes,"  answered  Bessie. 

"  She  has  divine  eyes  !  So  soft  and  tender  !  It  is 
a  joy  to  look  at  them  !" 

"  And  that  hat  of  blue  drawn  lisse,  with  its  flowers 
of  shaded  blue,  is  vastly  becoming  above  them. 
Louisa  looks  well  in  that  shade  of  blue." 

But  when  evening  came,  and  Louisa  appeared  at 
dinner  in  a  gown  of  thin  brown  canvas,  worn  over 
an  amber-silk  petticoat,  with  sleeves  of  amber  silk 
and  plastrons  to  match,  and  amber  combs  in  her 
black  hair,  Will  suffered  a  fresh  enchantment.  He 
sat  at  the  side  of  this  goddess,  and  she  charmed  him 
anew  every  moment.  If  he  ate  anything,  he  was 
not  aware  of  the  act.  His  eyes  and  ears  usurped  his 
consciousness.  And  yet  Louisa  spoke  very  little, 
only  enough  to  set  Will  talking.  Her  role  was  to 
listen  and  look  interested.  She  had  only  to  smile 
and  look  in  Will's  face  and  lift  her  large,  expressive 
eyes  to  his  small  gray  ones,  and  Will  was  both 
praised  for  what  he  had  said  and  encouraged  to  go 
on.  At  the  end  of  the  evening,  Louisa  had  said 
hardly  anything ;  nods  and  wreathed  smiles  and 
pretty  interjections  represented  her  conversation ; 
but  Will  told  Bessie  he  had  "never  met  a  more 
sensible  or  entertaining  woman." 

And  yet  Will  had  been  intimate  with  the  brilliant 
Ambrosia  and  with  the  learned  Miss  Radway.  He 
had  known  many  ladies  who  wrote  novels  and  others 
who  wrote  social  essays.  He  had  visited  the  poetess 


Will's  Marriage.  265 

of  the  era  and  sat  at  the  feet,  figuratively,  of  all  who 
in  any  way  interpreted  the  genius  and  aspirations  of 
the  dying  nineteenth  century.  And  with  all  these 
guides  and  gauges  of  intellect  to  school  his  judg 
ment,  Will  Carter  said,  in  very  earnest,  of  Louisa 
Madison :  "  She  is  the  most  sensible  and  entertain 
ing  woman  I  ever  met." 

For  it  is  a  fact  that  if  girls  would  only  learn  to 
"  efface  themselves,"  they  would  find  it  an  easy  way 
to  be  sensible  and  entertaining,  and  there  would  be 
fewer  flirtations  and  a  great  many  more  marriages. 
Louisa  only  did  naturally  what  any  self-restraining 
girl  can  do  artificially.  She  really  liked  to  dress  her 
self  beautifully,  and  receive,  without  either  mental 
or  physical  effort,  the  entertainment  provided  for 
her.  He  was  equally  tired  of  the  mental  gymnastics 
of  intellectual  women  and  the  tiresome  graces  of 
physical-culture  women.  She  was  an  inexpressible 
rest  to  Will.  He  was  glad  to  hear  Louisa  say  that, 
if  she  had  to  play  lawn-tennis  long,  it  would  give 
her  a  tennis  "brain"  as  well  as  the  "elbow"  and 
"  knee  "  trouble  it  is  accountable  for.  She  looked 
charming  in  his  eyes  when  she  thought  "  a  tennis- 
woman  a  queer  study  of  the  nineteenth-century  hu 
manity  ;"  when  she  could  not  admire  "  women  who 
do  their  athletics  in  public ;"  when  she  was  not  sure 
that  she  admired  athletic  young  women  at  all ;  when 
she  disliked  even  the  leather  belts  girls  now  affected, 
"  because  a  ribbon  belt  looks  so  much  more  femi 
nine."  It  pleased  him  to  hear  her  say  she  really 
could  not  bear  to  buckle  her  waist  in  evil-smelling 
leather.  "  Odious !"  How  then  could  he  avoid  look 
ing  again  at  the  pretty  slim  waist,  girdled  with 
a  blue  cestus,  that  Venus  herself  might  have  worn? 


266  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  all  these  views  came 
at  one  time  from  Louisa.  They  were  a  code  of  opin 
ions,  formed  slowly  in  her  own  mind  and  not  waste- 
fully  enunciated.  They  lasted  her  a  long  time,  and 
Will  was  amazed  at  the  consistency  of  Louisa's 
mind. 

"  She  had  some  fixed  ideas,"  he  proudly  told  him 
self,  and  these  ideas,  fortunately,  all  fitted  into  his 
own.  And  then  he  compared  her  modest  way  of 
suggesting-  her  opinions  and  listening  to  his  opin 
ions  with  the  confident,  airy  satisfaction  of  the  aver 
age  clever  girl  of  New  York. 

"  Louisa  has  no  self-consciousness,"  he  thought, 
"  and  most  of  the  brilliant  women  I  have  met  seem 
to  talk  before  their  looking-glass.  Bessie  often  gives 
me  that  impression — so  does  Ambrosia — so  does 
every  one  but  Louisa." 

In  the  presence  of  this  unique  and  satisfactory 
companion,  a  month  went  away  like  a  happy  dream. 
The  life  led  was  regular  and  blissful.  Mr.  Madison 
went  fishing  every  possible  day  and  came  home  in 
the  evening  to  his  dinner,  full  of  enthusiasm  about 
the  people  and  the  country.  Bessie  had  John's  ap 
parently  endless  letters  to  answer.  She  was  a  little 
vain  of  the  quires  and  quires  of  adoration  she  re 
ceived.  Already  she  regarded  herself  as  a  married 
woman  and  put  on  those  airs  of  severe  reservation 
common  to  neophytes  in  the  holy  state  of  matri 
mony.  She  treated  Louisa  and  Will  very  much  in 
a  maternal  spirit.  Her  attitude  was  a  satisfactory 
"go  and  be  happy,  my  children."  And  Will  and 
Louisa  took  the  tacit  permission  with  joy  and  grati 
tude.  They  wandered  among  the  laurel  walks  and 
sailed  upon  the  lakes  and  set  their  dream  of  love  in 


Will's  Marriage.  267 

natural  and  romantic  beauties  that  had  no  compari 
son  elsewhere. 

One  lovely  night  in  early  September,  frhey  were 
in  Grasmere,  at  the  Prince  of  Wales  Hotel.  After 
dinner  was  over,  Mr.  Madison  being  very  weary 
with  a  day's  trout-fishing,  fell  asleep  ;  and  Bessie  sat 
down  to  read  and  answer  the  letters  delayed  and  on 
time,  which  the  mail  had  just  brought  her.  Then 
Will  said  to  Louisa  : 

"  Come,  let  us  go  to  the  famous  Wishing  Gate." 
She  rose  with  a  smile.  The  moon  was  at  the  full ; 
the  air  was  just  chill  enough  to  give  an  excuse  for 
the  white  fleecy  wraps,  in  which  she  looked  lovelier 
than  ever  ;  and  Bessie  smiled  on  their  departure, 
with  the  manner  of  one,  who  amid  her  own  impor 
tant  interests,  had  still  a  watchful  care  over  theirs. 
Down  the  old  Roman  road  they  went  slowly,  hand 
in  hand,  to  the  Wishing  Gate.  Bessie  had  talked  to 
Louisa  about  the  magic  spot,  and  told  her  she  must 
be  sure  of  her  desires,  because  whatever  she  longed 
for  on  that  spot  would  certainly  come  to  pass.  Then 
Bessie,  who  had  a  nice  little  imagination  of  her  own, 
though  well  in  control,  began  to  speculate  about  the 
thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands  who  had  stood 
upon  the  fair  ground  and  asked  for  their  heart's  de 
sire.  And  she  lifted  the  hotel  "  Wordsworth  "  and 
made  Louisa  read  how — 

"  Even  the  stranger  from  afar, 
Reclining  on  the  moss-grown  bar, 

Unknowing  and  unknown  ; 
The  infection  of  (he  ground  partakes, 
Longing  for  his  beloved ;  who  makes 
All  happiness  her  own." 

So  Louisa  was  well  prepared  for  the  mystical  glamour 


268  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

of  the  scene.  And,  oh,  how  fair  it  was  !  The  moon 
light  invested  everything  with  an  ineffable  beauty. 
Will  was  silent.  Louisa  had  no  desire  to  speak. 
They  leaned  upon  the  bar  and  whispered  to  the 
genius  of  the  spot  their  wishes,  and  felt  all  the 
charm  which  indulgent  centuries  had  woven  thrill 
their  hearts. 

And  so  it  happened  that  the  genius  was  propi 
tious  ;  for,  as  they  lingered  by  the  bar,  Will  put  his 
wish  to  the  test,  and  got  it.  Then  it  transpired  that 
Louisa  had  wished  as  Will  had  wished  ;  and  that  in 
granting  Will's  wish  she  also  granted  her  own. 

Then  Will  had  another  wish.  Why  should  not 
the  promise  be  made  perfect  upon  ground  so  auspi 
cious  ?  That  very  day  they  had  visited  Grasmere 
Church  and  sat  among  its  "  crowded  pillars  "  and 
under  its  ancient  roof,  upheld — 

"By  naked  rafters  intricately  crossed." 

They  had  read  together  the  admonitory  texts 
inscribed  upon  its  walls,  and  marveled  a  little  at  the 
"  winged  heads  of  rudely  painted  cherubim."  And 
Will,  whose  soul  was  sweetest  when  it  soared 
loftiest,  had  been  strangely  touched  and  pleased  to 
see  Louisa,  as  she  entered  the  church,  silently  fall 
upon  her  knees  to  keep  the  charge  inscribed  above 
the  portal : 

"  Whoever  thou  art  that  enterest  this  church,  leave  it  not 
Without  one  prayer  to  God  for  thyself;  for  those 
Who  minister  and  for  those  who  worship  here." 

And  in   the  making  of  this  one  prayer   Will  and 

Louisa  came   very  closely  and  tenderly  together, 

kneeling  side  by  side  at  the  oaken  bench  in  the  nave. 

So  will  had  taken  a  strange  fancy  for  the  old 


Will's  Marriage.  269 

church  of  St.  Oswald.  He  felt  that  marriage  would 
be  a  very  sweet  and  sacred  thing  in  it,  and  just  as 
soon  as  he  obtained  Louisa's  promise  to  be  his  wife, 
he  asked : 

"  Why  not,  then,  in  Grasmere  Church  ?" 
Louisa  was  not  able  to  find  any  reasons  worth  con 
sidering  against  Will's  urgent  arguments  for  his 
own  way.  He  had  always  disliked  show  weddings. 
He  thought  marriage  ought  to  be  a  sacred  personal 
matter.  Nothing  would  delight  him  so  much  as  a 
quiet  eight-o'clock-in-the-morning  ceremony,  with 
the  rector  and  clerk,  Mr.  Madison  and  Bessie  as  its 
witnesses.  They  could  have  a  family  breakfast  at 
nine,  and  take  the  ten  o'clock  train  for  London. 
And  at  London  they  could  decide  upon  their  future 
movements. 

All  this  perfect  plan  had  come  in  one  drift  of 
thought  to  Will,  after  the  Wishing  Gate  had  given 
him  his  wish.  It  is  the  usual  way — one  favor,  and 
then  another  to  bind  it.  Louisa  had,  however,  few 
objections.  If  affairs  took  a  conservative  course,  she 
must  either  be  married  from  Bessie's  house  in  New 
York  or  from  her  father's  house  in  Texas.  Bessie 
would  be  the  ruling  spirit  in  New  York.  Alphonse 
and  Margaret  were  in  possession  in  Texas.  In 
either  case  there  would  be  a  certain  amount  of  dic 
tation  and  deference.  An  informal  marriage  would 
at  once  make  her  her  own  mistress.  No  one  could 
dictate  to  her  about  wedding  presents  and  dresses 
and  meddlesome,  disagreeable  bridemaids.  These 
thoughts  and  kindred  ones  passed  rapidly  through 
her  mind  as  Will  urged  his  plan,  and  when  he 
ceased  his  persuasive  arguments  she  was  ready  to 
answer : 


270  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Dear  Will,  whatever  pleases  you  most  pleases 
me  most." 

Bessie,  upon  being  taken  into  council,  screwed  up 
her  pretty  face  and  looked  at  first  very  dissenting. 
But  as  Will  reiterated  his  arguments,  she  was  busy 
with  some  of  her  own,  which  fitted  very  well  into 
Will's.  It  would  rather  detract  from  the  tclat  of 
her  own  wedding  to  have  Louisa's  in  New  York. 
Whether  Louisa's  was  before  or  after  hers,  there 
would  be  comparisons.  Then  it  would  be  a  little 
"  stunner  "  to  Ambrosia  to  find  that  her  inseparable 
Will,  her  obedient  Will,  had  got  married  without 
even  a  word  of  advice  or  permission  from  her.  No 
one  could  deny  that  Ambrosia  had  acted  as  if  she 
owned  both  her  husband  and  her  husband's  brother. 
No  one  could  deny  that  Ambrosia  was  awfully 
patronizing.  Will's  sudden  marriage  would  be  a 
little  lesson  for  her.  Women  have  no  special  ill-will 
in  such  thoughts.  They  simply  like  to  get  ahead  of 
one  another.  Men  do  the  same. 

So  the  wedding  took  place,  and  was  as  fortunate 
in  all  respects  as  the  wooing  had  been.  It  was  such 
a  day  as  September  sometimes  gives,  serene  and 
bright.  The  sunshine  flooded  the  ancient  altar  and 
the  rector's  white  vestments  and  the  kneeling  bride 
and  the  bridegroom.  The  organ  welcomed  them 
with  a  joyful  melody,  and  sent  them  forth  with  a 
triumphant  measure.  An  atmosphere  of  chastened 
gladness  pervaded  every  event,  and  the  going-away 
-was  only  noticeable  for  its  composure  and  for  the 
general  disposition  to  say  :  "  What  a  suitable  cere 
mony  !  What  a  lovely  bride  !  How  sure  they  are 
to  be  happy  !  " 


Will's  Marriage.  271 

At  the  very  last  moment,  as  Bessie  was  kissing 
the  bride  good-bye,  Will  said  : 

"  Bessie,  dear,  do  me  one  more  favor :  Write  to 
Ambrosia  and  tell  her.  I  will  write  as  soon  as  we 
reach  Paris." 

Bessie  nodded  an  acceptance  of  the  commission, 
and  then  the  train  moved,  and  the  affairs  of  Will 
and  Louisa  were  entirely  in  their  own  hands. 

Bessie  sighed  and  turned  away.  Why  do  people 
always  sigh  after  the  newly  married  have  left  them  ? 

Is  it  because  they  are  glad  that  a  certain  strain 
has  been  removed,  or  is  it  because,  in  an  almost  un 
conscious  manner,  the  breaking-up  of  any  set  of  cir 
cumstances  prefigures  the  great  dissolution?  The 
soul  is  often  sensitive  and  sympathetic  without  the 
knowledge  or  aid  of  its  "  house  of  clay."  So  sighing 
and  yet  not  sad,  thoughtful  and  yet  pleasantly 
thoughtful,  Bessie  sat  down  to  fulfill  Will's  com 
mission  : 

"  DEAR  AMBER  :  I  have  been  awfully  neglectful  of  my  duty  to 
you  lately.  But  what  can  a  girl  do  with  two  love  affairs  on  her 
heart  and  hands  ?  I  do  not  mean  two  of  my  own — for  it  would  be 
impossible  to  find  a  man  worthy  to  rival  Jack — you  must  count 
me  for  one  and  put  the  second  down  to  my  cousin  Louisa,  who  is 
a  most  charming,  womanly  creature  and  who  has  been  staying 
with  me  for  some  weeks.  James  and  Azalia  have  been  here  also, 
and  they  were  so  admirable  that  we  felt  a  little  of  their  society 
would  do  for  a  long  time.  Certainly,  James  thinks  the  world 
owes  him  gratitude  for  condescending  to  be  born  thirty  years  ago 
and  then  condescending  to  get  married,  like  other  common 
mortals.  And  yet,  when  I  think  of  all  the  evil  James  might  have 
done  and  has  not  done,  I  am  amazed  at  his  restraint.  For  in 
stance,  he  might  have  been  a  horse-thief  or  a  card-sharper,  or  he 
might  have  followed  Ingersoll  and  written  against  Christianity,  or 
entered  into  any  of  the  many  evils  which  exist  in  so  large  a  city ; 


272  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

but  he  has  committed  none  of  these  villainies  ;  au  contraire,  he 
has  married  a  nice  girl  with  lots  of  money  and  in  other  points 
done  so  well  unto  himself  that  the  world  has  every  cause  to  praise 
him.  Azalia  is  the  shadow  of  his  virtues  and  the  echo  of  his 
wisdom.  So  you  may  understand  how  glad  Louisa,  who  is  only 
an  ordinary  mortal,  was  to  desert  their  excellencies  and  stay  with 
me,  who  also  am  only  an  ordinary  mortal.  We  found  it  easy  to 
live  together  without  getting  on  each  other's  nerves.  And  pretty 
soon  came  Mr.  Will  Carter,  whom  I  need  not  describe  to  you, 
and  he  fell — no,  he  tumbled — over  head  in  love  with  Louisa  ;  and 
no  wonder,  for,  as  I  have  said,  Louisa  has  every  womanly  grace  ; 
and  this  morning  they  were  married  in  Grasmere  Church ;  and 
that  is  the  end,  or  rather,  the  beginning,  of  the  matter.  It  was  an 
idyllic  wedding  in  every  respect ;  so  charmingly  simple,  graceful 
and  religious.  I  should  be  on  tiptoes  of  delight  if  I  could  marry 
Jack  in  just  such  a  fashion  ;  but,  oh,  dear,  in  New  York  one  must 
be  New  Yorkish,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  be  obliged  to  submit  to  a 
fine  public  ceremony.  Jack  has  that  idea.  The  fact  is,  Jack  is 
so  proud  of  me  he  wants  all  the  world  to  see  his  good  fortune. 
Will  and  Louisa  are  now  on  their  way  to  London.  Where  they 
will  go  and  what  they  will  do  afterward  are  uncertain,  except  that 
they  will  not  go  anywhere  preoccupied  by  James  and  Azalia. 
Will  asked  me  to  write  to  you,  and  he  says  he  will  write  himself 
as  soon  as  possible ;  but  do  not  be  angry  if  he  forgets,  for  his 
mind  travels  in  a  circuit  of  which  '  sweet  Louisa  '  is  the  center. 
We  expect  to  be  at  home  before  Christmas.  Jack  thinks  the  house 
will  be  in  fine  order  by  that  time,  and  Jack  has  supreme  taste  in 
such  matters.  We  are  going  to  Paris  next  month.  I  begin  to  feel  a 
little  interest  in  my  wedding  things,  though  I  do  not  intend  to  in 
dulge  the  vulgar  idea  of  a  trousseau.  It  is  so  like  getting  all  you 
can  out  of  a  father,  as  if  you  expected  never  to  get  anything  from 
your  husband  as  long  as  you  live.  You  know  I  have  some  original 
ideas,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  Do  you  remember  those  im 
mensely  rich,  vulgar  Smith-Martels,  whose  house  in  New  York  is 
all  gilt,  marble  and  looking-glass  ?  They  came  here  yesterday — 
they,  and  their  man-servants  and  their  maid-servants,  their  horses 
and  their  carriages  and  their  baby.  I  met  it  in  its  nurse's  arms 
an  hour  ago.  I  like  babies  generally,  but  this  baby  has  such  a 
smug,  vulgar,  ready-money  expression  that  it  roused  my  antipathy. 
It  is  not  right,  of  course,  not  to  like  a  baby  ;  but  a  baby  should 


Will's  Marriage.  273 

not  look  over-fed  for  its  size.  I  have  no  other  gossip  you  would 
understand  about.  Do  send  me  a  news-letter  from  New  York.  Is 
Doctor  Carter  as  busy  as  ever  ?  Will  says  you  only  get '  inter 
mitting  peeps  at  him,'  he  is  so  devoted  to  science.  I  am  glad  Jack 
is  only  a  business  man,  for  I  am  sure  I  would  not  be  put  off  with 
'  intermittent  peeps.'  Your  affectionate  cousin, 

"BESSIE  MADISON. 

"  P.  S.  Do  not  give  me  the  credit  of  making  the  marriage 
between  Will  Carter  and  Louisa.  Marriages  like  theirs  are  made 
in  heaven,  and  I  should  not  think  of  interfering  with  the  business 
of  the  angels.  Still,  I  am  glad  they  remembered  Will  and 
Louisa.  I  never  saw  a  couple  so  suited  to  each  other,  except 
Jack  and  myself  and,  of  course,  Doctor  Carter  and  Mrs.  Carter. 
"Again,  adieu!  B.  M." 

Ambrosia  received  this  letter  one  day  when  she 
was  in  a  very  depressed  mood,  and  it  did  not 
improve  her  condition.  Her  first  overwhelming 
feeling  was  that  every  one  was  deserting  her,  and 
with  a  real  heartache  she  cried  out  bitterly  :  "  You, 
too,  Will!"  That  Will  had  married  was  bad 
enough  ;  that  Bessie  had  found  him  a  wife  doubled 
the  trouble.  As  for  the  "  angel  business,"  Am 
brosia  smiled  scornfully  at  it.  She  lifted  the  letter 
again  and  read  it  more  carefully.  Then  she  laid  it 
down  on  her  knee  and  commented  thus  upon  it : 

"  All  this  stuff  about  James  Madison  and  his  wife 
is  put  in  to  put  off  the  real  gist  of  the  letter.  That 
is  so  like  Bessie  !  Why  did  she  take  so  much  bother 
to  fence  off  the  subject  for  another  moment  or  two? 
It  had  to  come.  And  she  is  so  good  as  to  say  she 
need  not  describe  Will  Carter  to  me.  I  knew  Will 
before  she  ever  heard  of  him  !  Yet  she  puts  on  the 
airs  of  one  who  feels  Will  to  be  her  very  own  par 
ticular  discovery.  And  then,  after  all  this  palaver, 
she  brings  out  the  plain  truth  in  the  baldest  man- 


274  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

ner.  Bessie  felt  she  had  done  a  mean  thing,  and 
that  is  all  about  it.  She  ought  to  have  told  me  she 
intended  bringing  Will  and  Louisa  together.  As 
for  not  interfering  with  '  the  angels'  business,'  she 
must  have  written  lots  of  letters  and  taken  no  end 
of  trouble,  and  what  was  that  but  '  interfering  ?' 
How  absurd  she  is  about  Jack  !  Bessie  is  a  little 
traitor.  She  is  trying  to  wound  me  with  every 
word.  Ah,  well,  it  is  always  a  true  saying :  '  Since 
I  wronged  you  I  never  liked  you.'  " 

So  musing,  she  sat  a  long  time  with  the  letter  in 
her  hand.  Then  she  wrote  an  answer,  and  tore  it 
up.  After  an  hour's  consideration  she  wrote  another 
letter,  sealed  and  stamped  it,  yet  finally  tore  it  also 
into  small  shreds  and  burnt  them  to  ashes.  Then 
she  went  to  dress  herself,  and  took  a  drive,  and 
when  she  returned  she  sat  down  with  a  cynical 
smile  and  wrote : 

"  DEAREST  BESSIE  :  I  am  delighted  with  your  delightful  let 
ter  and  the  news  it  brings.  Dear,  good  Will !  He  was  worthy 
of  the  'sweet  Louisa,'  and  I  do  hope  they  will  be  happy.  If  you 
are  writing  to  Will,  tell  him  how  glad  I  am  for  him  and  that  he 
must  not  trouble  himself  to  write  to  me  often.  I  know  what 
honeymoon  travel  is ;  there  is  no  time  for  any  one  but  the  be 
loved.  I  hope  they  may  have  such  a  joyful  wander  as  Doctor 
Carter  and  I  had.  Ours  was  never  surpassed  and  never  will  be, 
I  am  sure;  never  on  this  planet.  I  think  your  house  is  getting 
on;  people  are  talking  of  its  splendor.  I  would  give  Jack  a  rt- 
minder  that  you  do  not  want  to  rival  the  Smith-Martels.  Men  in 
love  have  often  such  exuberant  tastes.  I  wish  I  had  time  to  write 
you  a  news-letter,  but  I  am  expecting  my  husband  every  moment, 
and,  as  Will  says,  we  only  get  '  intermitting  peeps '  at  each  other. 
So  I  think  we  ought  to  make  the  most  of  every  blessed  moment. 
If  you  only  try,  a  great  deal  of  happiness  can  be  got  out  of  '  inter 
mitting  peeps.'  And  perhaps,  after  all,  an  intermittent  condition 
is  better  than  a  wearisome  monotony.  Besides,  the  doctor's  skill 


Will's  Marriage.  275 

and  fame  and  the  universal  respect  in  which  he  is  held  add  a  kind 
of  rarity  to  the  quality  and  strength  of  his  affection,  so  that  its 
'  intermittent  character '  is  something  far  better  than  a  continuity 
or  monotonous  mediocrity.  I  am  very  proud  of  being  such  a 
great  man's  wife,  and  I  hope  I  know  how  to  take  the  drawbacks 
of  greatness  as  well  as  its  advantages.  We  can  discuss  this  point 
when  you  are  one  of  the  initiated,  and  know  all  about  it.  I  think 
you  are  right  about  your  trousseau.  I  acted  precisely  as  you  are 
doing.  So  we  both  had  the  same  original  idea.  I  am  glad  you 
are  going  to  have  a  fine  wedding.  Of  course  it  was  out  of  the 
question  in  my  case — father  being  so  ill  at  the  time — but  1  hope 
to  see  you  in  all  the  traditional  glory  of  a  bride.  Do  try  to  get 
home  before  Christmas.  Yours  affectionately, 

"AMBROSIA  CARTER." 

She  called  a  servant  and  sent  this  letter  at  once. 
In  an  hour  afterward,  Doctor  Carter  entered  the 
room.  He  looked  inquiringly  at  his  wife,  and  she 
looked  at  the  fire.  Neither  spoke.  So  the  doctor 
sat  silently  down  and  began  to  think  out  his  even 
ing's  work.  Ambrosia  glanced  up  and  saw  the  ten 
sion  on  his  brow  and  the  brooding  look  in  his  eyes, 
and  knew  that  in  his  mind  he  had  separated  her 
from  his  thoughts.  She  had  sent  him  away  in  the 
morning  with  an  angry  word,  and  she  had  fully 
determined  to  say  the  soft  word  which  turneth  away 
wrath,  when  he  came  home  in  the  evening.  But  his 
air  had  been  so  decidedly  that  of  a  man  expecting 
annoyance  and  indifferent  to  it,  that  she  had  felt 
suddenly  chilled.  It  took  her  a  little  while  to  re 
cover  her  intention.  It  was  always  a  difficult  thing 
for  Ambrosia  to  say  the  first  word.  She  waited 
anxiously  for  Robert  to  speak.  She  was  ready  to 
respond,  to  conciliate,  but  not  ready  to  begin  the 
conversation. 

But  Robert  did  not  speak.   He  was  carrying  on  an 


276  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

argument  with  himself,  and  finally  Ambrosia  rose 
and,  standing  opposite  his  drooping  face,  said  : 

"  Robert,  do  you  know  that  Will  is  married  ?" 

Robert  started,  and  then,  looking  sadly  into  the 
fire,  answered : 

"  Poor  fellow !    I  am  sorry  for  him." 

"  But  Will  is  very  happy." 

"  He  may  be — for  a  few  weeks.  He  will  pay  for 
his  pleasure  with  heartaches  enough." 

"  Dear  Robert,  do  not  say  such  dreadful  things. 
I  do  not  wish  to  give  you  a  single  heartache." 

"  Then  why  do  you  give  me  so  many  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  give  me  so  many?" 

"  Pshaw !  The  same  old  catechism !  Is  dinner 
ready  ?  I  am  in  a  hurry  to-night." 

"  Will  has  married  Miss  Madison,  of  Texas." 

"  It  makes  little  matter  who  the  woman  is.  As 
far  as  I  can  see,  all  women  are  alike — hard  to  live 
with." 

"  Am  I  hard  to  live  with  ?  Robert,  darling !  For 
give  me  !  Kiss  me,  dearest !  I  love  you  !  I  love  you ! 
I  love  you  so  much  !" 

"  Oh,  Amber,  how  can  you  say — " 

"  I  do  !  I  do  !  I  love  you  better  than  my  life !  Kiss 
me,  Robert !  Forgive  me  !  Will  you  forgive  me  and 
love  me,  dear  ?  Indeed,  I  am  miserable  unless  you 
love  me  !  Forgive  me,  darling !" 

And  the  great  doctor,  scholar  and  scientist  was  but 
wax  before  the  fire  of  his  wife's  love.  He  took  her 
to  his  heart ;  he  waved  impatiently  away  all  expla- 
nations  and  confessions.  He  canceled  every  wrong 
in  a  kiss.  In  a  few  moments  she  was  sitting  by  his 
side  reading  Bessie's  letter  to  him  and  making  run 
ning  comments  on  it  as  she  read.  She  looked  at  her 


Will's  Marriage.  277 

husband  and  laughed,  and  he  looked  at  her  and 
laughed,  and  they  went  into  the  dining-room  to 
gether,  as  happy  as  a  couple  of  happy  children. 

"  Are  you  sorry  for  Will  now,  Robert  ?"  she  whis 
pered,  after  dinner;  and  the  whisper  went  home 
with  a  kiss. 

"  I  think  Will  has  done  the  most  sensible  thing  he 
ever  did  in  his  life,  my  dear,"  answered  the  doctor, 
emphatically.  "  I  have  no  doubt  he  has  got  a  good 
wife." 

"  All  women  are  alike,  Robert,  dear  " — this  with 
another  kiss. 

"  All  alike  good,  my  love.  I  am  sure  Miss  Louisa 
Madison  is  good,  or  Will  would  not  love  her." 

"  And  I  know  how  tremendously  Bessie  admires 
herself ;  it  is,  therefore,  wonderful  to  find  her  com 
plimenting  Louisa." 

"  She  does  not  say  very  much  about  Louisa,  though 
there  is  a  great  deal  about  others  in  her  letter." 

"  Of  course,  Bessie  has  a  perfect  genius  for  spread 
ing  small  bits  of  butter  over  any  quantity  of  bread. 
She  never  praises  anybody  altogether.  Bessie  is  my 
own  cousin,  but  she  is  no  saint." 

"  Jack  Madison  seemed  to  think  her  a  saint  or  an 
angel  or  some  other  kind  of  sublimated  woman." 

"  Robert,  do  you  like  saints  ?" 

"  Is  it  not  better  to  be  a  saint  than  a  sinner  ?" 

Amber  sighed,  and  looked  bewitching  as  she  did 
so.  A  tender,  comical  smile  was  on  her  lips.  She 
lifted  her  husband's  face  between  her  hands  and 
said  : 

"Sometimes  sinners  are  more  angel-like  than 
saints.  Can  you  deny  it,  sir?" 

No  !     He  endorsed  it  over  and  over  and  swore 


278  Girls  of  a.  Feat  her. 

to  it  with  all  his  heart ;  and  when  Amber  asked  him 
if  she  was  really  hard  to  live  with,  he  said  warmly 
she  was  delightful  to  live  with.  She  was  the  joy 
and  pleasure  and  sunshine  of  his  life.  He  was  sure 
he  would  not  care  to  live  without  her.  If  Amber 
had  then  suggested  that  probably  it  was  himself 
who  was  "  difficult,"  Robert  would  have  admitted  at 
once  that  he  was  often  a  bear  and  exceedingly  hard 
to  please. 

But  Amber  had  some  forbearance  and  discretion. 
She  only  kissed  him  again  and  said  : 
-"Dear  Robert,  can  you  talk  to  me  this  evening?" 

And  Robert  put  away  his  books,  assuring  his  wife 
that  he  had  plenty  of  time  and  would  really  like 
nothing  better. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"LET   ME  ALONE   TO-NIGHT!" 

In  love  there  are  all  these  ills :  wrongs,  suspicions,  quarrels, 
reconcilements,  war,  and  peace  again.  If  thou  wouldst  try  to  do 
things  thus  uncertain  by  a  certain  method,  thou  wouldst  act  as 
wisely  as  if  thou  wert  to  run  mad  with  reason  as  thy  guide. — 
Terence. 

This  little  domestic  scene,  ending1  so  much  more 
happily  than  it  might  have  done,  was  by  no  means 
the  first  or  the  last  of  its  kind.  Ambrosia  had  one 
characteristic  which  continually  provoked  them— 
the  extraordinary  quality  of  her  "  fine  feelings." 
They  were  indeed  so  fine  that  Robert  found  it  im 
possible  to  avoid  injuring  them,  however  careful  he 
was.  She  could  not  settle  down  into  his  pace,  and 
she  grew  substantially  cross,  because  other  absorb 
ing  affairs  made  him  superficially  so.  Her  "  fine 
feelings  "  were  distrustful  feelings,  uneasily  jealous 
of  their  rights  and  insatiably  craving  a  constant  re 
assurance  of  absolute  devotion.  He  had  to  live  with 
them  in  a  fool's  paradise  of  perfectness,  or  be  made 
to  feel  himself  a  brute.  And  though  these  pathetic 
scenes  of  tender  accusation  or  sorrowful  acceptance 
of  supposed  coldness  did  at  first  please  Robert's 
love  and  vanity,  they  could  not  fail  to  pall  in  the 

[279] 


280  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

end,  and  Ambrosia  was  in  real  danger  of  bringing 
about  the  very  alienation  she  had  begun  to  depre 
cate  before  it  existed. 

The  straightforward,  regretful,  affectionate  way 
in  which  she  had  met  her  husband's  cold  absorption 
on  the  evening  made  memorable  by  the  news  of 
Will's  marriage  was  an  unusual  demonstration.  It 
was  a  peculiar  mood,  induced  by  peculiar  circum 
stances.  Bessie's  letter  had  made  suddenly  manifest 
to  her  the  necessity  of  some  effort  on  her  part  to 
protect  her  supremacy.  Bessie  had  found  in  Louisa 
a  more  congenial  friend.  Will  had  forgotten  his 
sister  in  his  wife.  Clara  had  not  been  very  often  to 
see  her  lately.  St.  Ange's  pitiful  admiration,  though 
unvoiced,  annoyed  her.  She  was  well  aware  that 
her  servants  did  not  like  her.  Mrs.  Ryan  had  felt 
herself  deeply  insulted  by  Ambrosia's  utter  oblivion 
of  her  granddaughter's  presence  in  the  laboratory, 
and  Mrs.  Ryan  knew  how  to  make  every  inferior 
servant  echo  her  own  feelings. 

That  day,  Bessie's  letter  had  given  her  a  heart- 
shock.  Will  had  gone ;  she  must  make  more  sure 
of  her  hold  upon  her  husband.  She  had  hoped  so 
much  from  Will's  return,  and  he  would  never  come 
back  to  her.  She  might  even  go  too  far  with  a 
devotion  so  great  as  Robert's.  There  was  a  certain 
kind  of  fear  as  well  as  love  influencing  her  submis 
sion.  But,  such  as  it  was,  it  took  Robert  by  surprise 
and  won  him.  He  had  expected  to  find  his  wife 
going  about  with  red  eyes  and  an  expression  of  ex 
asperating  injury,  or  else  showing  off  a  "  sweet  Gri- 
seldaism  "  and  kissing  the  rod  with  an  aggravating 
meekness.  These  conditions  could  be  met  either 
by  isolating  himself  from  them  or  by  bringing  Gri- 


"Let  Me  Alone  To- Night !"  281 

selda  to  reason  through  a  good  cry  ;  for  Robert  had 
learned  that  it  is  the  worst  temper  which  eventually 
carries  the  day,  and  that  after  a  storm  there  was  a 
likelihood  of  smooth  sailing — until  the  next  time. 

Therefore  Ambrosia's  candid,  affectionate  ad 
vances  were  an  unexpected  attack,  and  Robert  was 
easily  conquered  by  them.  They  had  a  happy  even 
ing,  and  Ambrosia  was  delighted  to  see  St.  Ange's 
wide  stare  of  astonishment  at  their  satisfaction  with 
each  other.  It  seemed  at  last  as  if  she  had  discov 
ered  the  best  way  to  influence  her  husband.  But 
even  such  a  charming  submission  can  be  carried  too 
far.  If  Robert  did  not  actually  tire  of  them,  he  did 
tire  of  the  previous  unpleasantnesses  which  made 
them  necessary,  and  the  winter  of  love's  discontent 
already  chilled  their  hearts. 

The  season  was  advancing,  but  not  yet  very  gay, 
and  what  Ambrosia  needed  was  some  living  interest 
to  give  piquancy  and  motive  to  her  life.  She  was 
having  some  exquisite  toilets  made,  but  interviews 
with  modistes  are  not  exhilarating,  and  they  left  her 
irritable  and  tired  for  the  rest  of  the  day  ;  and  when 
she  contemplated  her  social  life  for  the  coming  win 
ter,  the  prospects  were  not  what  she  desired.  It 
was  evident  that  in  the  main  she  would  be  depend 
ent  on  some  other  escort  than  her  husband.  And 
who  was  there  ?  Will  was  now  permanently  engaged 
elsewhere.  St.  Ange  was  detestable.  Of  course,  she 
could  associate  herself  with  Bessie,  but  that  would 
inevitably  set  Bessie  above  her,  and  she  meant  to  be 
Mrs.  Doctor  Carter  and  not  Mrs.  Jack  Madison's 
cousin. 

One  Sunday  morning,  she  said  at  breakfast : 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Clara  to-morrow,  Robert.     I 


282  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

had  a  letter  from  her  yesterday,  and  she  says  her 
father  has  had  a  relapse  and  is  very  weak.  I  tele 
graphed  her  to  meet  me." 

"  It  is  a  very  proper  thing  for  you  to  do.  I  think 
the  change  also  will  do  you  good." 

"  I  may  stay  for  a  day  or  two  with  Clara." 

"All  right." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  not  miss  me.  I  might  stay  a 
year  and  it  would  be  '  all  right.'  " 

"  It  would  be  a  year's  rest  from  such  accusations, 
Amber.  What  time  are  you  going  ?  I  will  try  to  be 
at  the  train  to  see  you." 

"I  can  catch  the  noon  train.  Do  not  leave  your 
work  for  my  pleasure.  It  would  only  annoy  you." 

"  Very  well." 

The  next  morning  nothing  was  said  about  the 
visit  to  Clara.  Robert  stopped  and  kissed  her  ere 
he  left  the  house,  and  Amber  was  too  proud  to 
remind  him  of  her  journey.  But  as  soon  as  he 
closed  the  door  she  began  to  lament  his  indiffer 
ence.  So  she  had  resolved  to  go  to  Clara  with  her 
troubles. 

At  the  depot  she  looked  anxiously  for  her  hus 
band.  St.  Ange  came  in  his  place.  The  doctor  had 
been  suddenly  called  from  town,  he  said,  and  had 
sent  him  with  his  regrets  and  a  great  handful  of 
roses. 

Ambrosia  did  not  want  flowers.  She  put  them 
carelessly  down  and  was  angry  at  heart.  Tears  she 
could  not  restrain  filled  her  eyes.  She  had  not 
spirit  enough  to  resent  the  doubtful  words  and  com 
passionate  looks  of  St.  Ange.  "  What  was  the  good  ?" 
she  asked  herself.  She  could  have  forgiven  Robert's 
neglect  of  her,  if  only  he  was  not  so  indifferent  to 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  283 

the  attentions  of  St.  Ange.  If  Robert  did  not  love 
her,  she  wanted,  at  least,  that  he  should  have  a  dog- 
in-the-manger  feeling  about  any  other  man  loving 
her.  So  she  was  silent  and  constrained,  and  St. 
Ange  took  it  for  pride,  and  as  the  train  moved  away 
he  glanced  evilly  after  it  and  muttered  behind  his 
closed  teeth : 

"  All  things  come  to  the  man  who  can  wait.  My 
proud  lady  shall  be  humble  enough  some  day !" 

Ambrosia  gave  him  no  thought  at  all.  Her  hus 
band's  indifference  pained  her ;  and  the  desolate 
country  through  which  she  was  whirled  seemed  a 
fitting  frame  for  her  hopeless  thoughts.  Bare 
branches  tossed  in  the  freezing  wind  ;  little  pools  of 
water ;  withered  tufts  of  long  grass  ;  bare,  unpainted, 
shut-up  cottages ;  empty  fields !  What  a  dreary 
panorama  of  the  worn-out,  dying  year  it  all  was ! 
She  thought  it  a  relief  when  the  cars  stopped  ;  she 
had  begun  to  feel  as  if  she  also  was  an  atom,  whirled 
by  some  irresistible  fate.  She  looked  round  for  Clara. 
Clara  was  not  there.  But  an  uncouth  lad  touched 
her  familiarly,  and  said  : 

"  Mrs.  Shepherd  told  me  to  look  out  for  you, 
mis'.  The  old  man  is  bad  off,  and  she  couldn't 
come." 

Ambrosia  silently  entered  the  buggy.  She  did 
not  like  the  frowzy,  impertinent  youth  who  seemed 
to  feel  it  his  duty  to  entertain  as  well  as  drive  her. 
Clara  might  surely  have  met  her.  She  felt  hurt  and 
offended  by  the  lack  of  courtesy. 

"  Clara  is  like  every  one  else,"  she  decided.  "  She 
has  other  interests,  and  I  am  nobody  now." 

It  was  difficult,  however,  to  keep  up  this  sense  of 
injury  when  she  was  really  in  Clara's  presence. 


284  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Clara  had  made  so  many  preparations  for  her  com 
fort.  She  had  met  her  with  open  arms,  and  with 
such  welcoming  words  that  she  could  not  by  any 
means  consider  herself  longer  as  a  wronged  and 
slighted  woman.  Yet  that  night  she  told  Clara  serir 
ously  that  she  was  both  wronged  and  slighted. 

They  were  sitting  together  at  midnight,  watching 
the  flickering-out  of  the  vital  flame  in  the  old  man 
calmly  sleeping  himself  into  another  life.  He  was, 
indeed,  so  far  from  this  life  that  the  low  conversa 
tion  of  the  two  women  touched  no  sense  of  his  that 
was  yet  quick.  Clara  had  at  first  wondered  how 
Ambrosia  could  think  of  all  this  world's  restless  aims 
and  passions  while  such  a  stupendous  change  was 
happening  before  her  eyes  ;  but  she  resolved  to  let 
the  selfish  woman  make  her  complaint  in  the  very 
Presence.  It  must  of  necessity  somewhat  control  ex 
pression,  and  the  control  of  words  often  means,  to  a 
certain  degree,  the  control  of  feeling. 

"  That  girl  is  the  kernel  of  all  the  trouble,"  said 
Ambrosia,  after  detailing,  in  a  low,  intense  voice, 
her  discovery  of  Meta  in  the  doctor's  laboratory. 
"  And  what  would  you  do,  Clara  ?" 

"  I  would  ask  the  doctor  to  send  her  away." 

"  I  have  begged  and  begged  him  to  do  so,  and  he 
says  she  is  no  more  to  him  than  his  instruments  or 
his  pen  and  paper.  He  thinks,  therefore,  that  I 
ought  not  to  object,  as  she  is  useful  to  him." 

"  I  think  he  is  wrong,  very  wrong,  because  he 
could  easily  find  a  man  who  could  take  her  place. 
But  every  one  has  a  point  at  which  he  rebels,  and  I 
suppose  Meta  is  the  doctor's  '  so  far  and  no  farther.' 
I  feel  sure  that,  before  you  asked  for  the  dismissal 
of  Meta,  you  had  asked  a  great  many  unreasonable 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  285 

things,  and  he  thought  he  would  make  a  stand  at 
the  girl.  Very  often  what  appears  sadly  wrong  is 
nothing  else  but  an  unfortunate  '  stand  '  of  this  kind. 
A  man  takes  it,  and  then  gets  stubborn  about  it." 

"  He  goes  away  to  his  study  every  night  after  din 
ner,  and  leaves  me  alone.  He  says  he  wants  to 
read.  Is  that  right  ?" 

"  Cannot  you  take  an  interest  in  the  books  he 
reads?" 

"About  'germs,'  and  things  like  that?  Impos 
sible  !" 

"  I  would  pretend  to  do  so  then — assume  the  vir 
tue  you  have  not.  In  a  little  time  you  would  really 
like  it." 

"  I  cannot  pretend.     I  cannot  be  false  to  myself." 

"  Nonsense  !  If  the  occasion  pleases,  we  all  pre 
tend,  every  hour  of  the  day !  We  are  all  players, 
and  if  our  part  is  not  always  pleasant,  it  may  be 
necessary.  Have  you  seen  the  girl  lately?  Are 
you  sure  she  is  still  in  Robert's  employ  ?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  her,  but  I  know  from  Mrs. 
Ryan's  insolent  ways  that  she  is  still  with  Robert." 

"  St.  Ange  could  tell  you." 

"  I  would  not  ask  him  for  the  world.  His  look 
said  too  much  the  day  I  first  saw  her.  He  is  pre 
sumptuous  enough.  I  dislike  him  as  much  as  I  dis 
like  the  girl ;  and  Robert  says,  of  course,  I  would 
dislike  any  one  man  or  woman  he  employed.  You 
see  it  looks  as  if  it  were  so.  But  I  say  nothing  about 
St.  Ange,  because  Robert  thinks  it  would  be  impos 
sible  for  him  to  find  another  man  so  quick  and 
sympathetic  in  his  work.  Now,  as  I  put  up  with 
St.  Ange  to  please  Robert,  I  think  he  might  dismiss 
Meta  to  please  me." 


286  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Did  you  ever  notice  a  typewriter?" 

"  I  know  one  when  I  see  it." 

"  Learn  how  to  use  it." 

"What  for?" 

"When  you  are  an  expert — and  it  is  an  easy 
thing  to  become  an  expert — offer  yourself  in  Meta's 
place." 

"Oh,  Clara,  would  you  do  that?" 

"  I  would.  No  words  you  could  say  will  speak  as 
this  action  will  speak.  It  has  other  advantages. 
You  are  ennuyte  and  fretful  with  a  purposeless  life. 
This  is  a  motive.  It  seems  to  me  I  could  practice 
all  daylong  for  such  an  end.  Think  how  amazed — 
how  touched  Robert  will  be  at  such  perseverance  !" 

"  I  will  do  it !  Thank  you,  Clara.  I  will  get  a 
typewriter  to-morrow." 

"  Now  let  us  consider  things  incidental  to  it.  Do 
you  remember  Mr.  Stuart,  your  father's  lawyer?" 

"  We  are  yet  good  friends." 

"  Employ  him  in  the  matter ;  for  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  would  make  a  clean  sweep  of  the  servants' 
quarters.  I  would  spare  none.  However  faithful 
they  are  to  you,  they  are  far  more  faithful  to  their 
own  class.  Does  Doctor  Carter  often  go  away?" 

"  He  is  going  to  a  physicians'  dinner  at  Philadel 
phia  on  Thursday." 

"  Then  Thursday  is  your  day.  Go  home  to-mor 
row.  Hire  new  help,  with  instructions  to  come  on 
Thursday  night,  and  on  Thursday  morning  clear 
out  your  petty  irritations,  and  bring  home  your  type 
writer.  You  must  have  a  teacher,  but  a  very  few 
lessons  will  do." 

"  You  think  I  should  clear  out  all  the  old  servants  ?" 

"  Leave  not  one  to  infect  the  new  order.     No  one 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  287 

can  tell  what  wicked  influences  you  may  rid  yourself 
of  in  such  a  movement.  Many  a  wretched  house 
hold  is  regenerated  by  new  servants." 

"  They  can  certainly  make  the  house  wretched, 
nor  can  any  one  tell  exactly  how  they  do  it.  Clara, 
I  do  wish  I  had  come  to  you  before.  I  am  anxious 
now  to  get  home  and  begin  the  work  you  have  set 
me." 

"  And  remember,  dear,  no  one,  without  your  own 
help,  can  break  the  bond  between  you  and  Robert. 
Nothing  on  earth  is  harder  to  break  than  a  wedding- 
ring.  Oh,  Amber,  there  is  no  need  to  give  you  les 
sons.  You  can  take  Robert  captive  again  with  the 
greatest  ease,  if  you  wish  ;  and,  what  is  more,  all  the 
women  on  earth  cannot  take  him  from  you  unless 
you  give  them  permission  by  foolishly  aiding  them." 

Then  the  subject  was  dropped.  Clara  saw  that  all 
necessary  stimulus  had  been  given,  and  she  turned 
the  conversation  upon  Will  and  Bessie. 

"  I  feel  as  if  they  had  both  been  traitors  to  me," 
said  Ambrosia,  with  a  little  temper.  "  Will,  I  dare 
say,  has  made  a  fool  of  himself.  The  last  letter  I 
had  from  him  was  sickening.  It  was  '  my  wife ' 
every  ten  words.  Bessie  is  and  has  always  been  an 
ambitious,  ordering,  dictatorial  little  thing.  It  was 
her  love  of  ordering  people  made  her  like  to  go  to 
mission  chapels.  She  pays  her  money,  and  they  let 
her  scold  and  advise  as  much  as  she  likes.  It  is  too 
funny  to  see  a  girl  in  her  teens  lecturing  a  woman 
who  has  had  a  dozen  babies." 

"  There  is  no  impertinence  like  the  impertinence 
of  youth." 

"  And  no  presumption !  Marriage  is  a  serious 
thing,  but  Bessie  first  arranged  her  own,  going 


288  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

about  it  in  a  most  dangerous — I  may  say  almost  im 
modest — way,  and  then  she  could  not  rest  until  she 
had  got  Will  and  Louisa  married.  Some  one  will 
have  to  put  a  bit  on  her,  or  she  will  make  her  parlors 
a  bazaar  for  marriageable  people." 

"Jack  Madison  will  teach  her  a  little  control. 
That  is  all  Bessie  wants." 

"Is  it?  You  do  not  know  the  little  lady.  She 
wants  to  drive  the  world  before  her." 

And  to  this  restless  babble  of  the  world  and  all 
its  cares  and  sorrows  the  old  man,  aweary  of  all,  was 
slowly  and  gently  passing  away.  After  a  short 
pause,  Clara  went  softly  to  the  bedside  and  looked 
at  him. 

"  He  sleeps  like  a  little  child,"  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  he  has  been  very  good,"  remarked 
Ambrosia.  She  was  not  thinking  of  the  dying  man. 
"  It  does  not  seem  a  hard  thing  to  die,"  she  added. 

"  Death  is  innocent  of  many  terrors  which  we  lay 
to  his  charge,"  answered  Clara.  "  Take  away  all 
the  solemn  bugbears  with  which  we  ourselves  sur 
round  him — the  nurses,  physicians,  priests,  watchers, 
the  darkened  room,  etc. — and  what  is  left?  Only  a 
going  to  sleep." 

"  Oh,  Clara  !     Death  anyway  is  terrible  !" 

"  The  last  conscious  words  my  father  said  were  : 
'  I  am  three-score-and-ten  years  old,  and  as  I  wait  I 
sing  the  harvest-song  of  inward  peace.'  All  his  life 
long  he  has  been  seeking  for  the  Unseen,  like  a  man 
searching  the  world  for  some  lost  friend.  Very 
soon  now  he  will  find  him  whom  his  soul  loveth. 
Is  that  dreadful  or  terrible?" 

There  was  no  answer,  and  after  a  short  pause 
Clara  said : 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  289 

"  You  must  go  to  bed,  Amber.  There  is  so  much 
for  you  to  do  to-morrow — things  not  to  be  delayed — 
and  without  sleep  nothing  will  be  done  wisely.  ' 

"  I  cannot  leave  you  alone." 

"  I  wish  to  be  alone." 

"  Then  good  night.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall 
sleep  or  not,  but  I  shall  think,  and  to-morrow  I  shall 
act." 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all  her  anxieties,  Ambrosia  slept 
soundly.  Physical  necessities  were  paramount  ones 
with  her.  In  the  morning,  there  was  but  little 
change  in  the  condition  of  Clara's  father,  and  Am 
brosia  was  glad  of  it.  She  was  eager  to  return  home, 
and  she  fancied  Clara  was  not  eager  to  have  her 
society.  This  was  natural  enough.  The  minds  of 
the  two  women  were  set  to  two  keys  wide  as  the 
universe  apart.  Clara  was  tarrying  with  her  good 
old  father  on  the  borderlands  of  being,  and  feeling 
it  to  be  an  exquisite  experience.  Ambrosia's  heart 
was  tossed  and  troubled  by  the  gravest  and  strongest 
passions  of  life — love,  jealousy,  hatred,  envy,  anger, 
fear.  She  could  not  imagine  the  wondrous  charm  of 
the  death-room,  and  she  therefore  thought  Clara 
was  as  anxious  as  herself  concerning  the  events 
which  they  had  talked  about. 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  Clara  to  hurry  me  away,"  she 
thought ;  "  for,  of  course,  she  must  be  awfully  lonely 
and  weary."  Which  reflection  came  from  the  self- 
consciousness  of  a  woman  who  could  conceive  of  no 
interests  greater  than  her  own. 

She  was  in  New  York  soon  enough  to  call  at  her 
lawyer's  office,  and  she  found  him  in.  Jealous  women 
are  seldom  reticent  women  ;  and  Ambrosia,  feeling 
that  this  man  was  both  a  lawyer  and  old  friend,  and 


290  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

also  that  he  was  much  interested  in  her  complaint, 
kept  nothing  from  him.  He  thought  Clara's  advice 
was  good,  and  that  she  ought,  first  of  all,  to  free  her 
home  from  all  adverse  people.  He  promised  to  be 
at  her  house  at  the  noon-hour,  Thursday,  and  told 
her  that  money  for  such  wages  as  would  be  to  pay 
was  all  that  she  required  to  trouble  herself  about. 

The  interval  passed  more  pleasantly  than  usual. 
Amber's  desire  to  make  her  husband  happy  ex 
plained  itself  in  a  number  of  those  trifling  things 
which  speak  most  pleasantly  to  a  man's  heart.  And 
Robert  was  not  ungrateful.  His  love  for  his  wife 
tiad  a  miraculous  hopefulness.  Also  he  had  that 
singular  vanity  in  his  work  which  distinguishes  all 
good  workers  ;  he  could  not  help  but  believe  that  it 
must  be  as  interesting  to  others  as  to  himself.  So 
that  when  Ambrosia  brought  a  Review  to  him  which 
contained  a  paper  on  his  favorite  subject,  and  asked 
him  to  explain  a  passage  to  her,  he  fell,  with  all  the 
innocence  of  a  child,  into  the  pretty  trap. 

He  not  only  explained  the  passage  but  disputed 
it,  and  then  showed  Ambrosia  why  it  was  wrong  and 
he  was  right ;  and  her  bright  face,  lifted  to  his  for 
instruction,  seemed  wonderfully  fascinating.  So  that, 
after  all,  Ambrosia  had  the  best  of  the  circumstance  ; 
for  if  she  gave  her  husband  nearly  one  hour,  he 
gave  her  all  the  rest  of  the  evening.  He  listened  to 
her  last  new  songs,  and  enjoyed  them.  He  read  her 
a  letter  from  Will,  and  told  her  of  a  piece  of  pre 
sumption  on  the  part  of  St.  Ange,  and  was  quite 
pleased  to  let  her  say  all  the  disagreeable  things  she 
wished  to  say  about  his  clever  assistant.  And  then 
Bessie,  and  the  natural  presumptions  that  might 
surely  be  expected  from  her,  filled  up  the  night  very 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  291 

pleasantly.  For  if  a  man  and  his  wife  can  only  unite 
on  the  s^me  person  to  disapprove  of,  they  very  soon 
get  to  a  condition  of  supreme  approval  of  each  other. 

On  Wednesday  Ambrosia  bought  a  new  Reming 
ton,  took  a  lesson  on  its  use,  and  was  so  fascinated 
with  the  art  that  she  longed  to  have  it  at  once  in  her 
own  private  sitting-room.  But  there  were  good  rea 
sons  for  delaying  its  delivery  until  Thursday  night, 
and  she  took  no  risks  by  disobeying  them.  She  had 
also  servants  to  look  after  and  other  things  to  attend 
to,  which  were  necessary  for  the  success  of  Thurs 
day's  emancipation  scheme. 

All  promised  well.  Immediately  after  an  early 
breakfast  Doctor  Carter  left  for  Philadelphia.  He 
would  certainly  be  away  until  Friday  evening,  and 
he  might  even  be  later.  What  is  there  that  cannot 
be  done  in  New  York  in  two  whole  days  ?  She  had 
arrayed  herself  very  beautifully  for  breakfast,  and 
Robert  was  elated  and  pleased  by  the  circumstance. 
He  was  sure  it  was  done  to  gratify  him,  and  when 
he  kissed  Ambrosia  for  the  attention,  she  smiled  a 
pretty  assurance  of  the  compliment. 

Exactly  at  noon  Mr.  Stuart  appeared.  He  was 
accompanied  by  a  man  who  looked  exceedingly  like 
a  policeman  in  plain  clothes,  and  the  business  of  dis 
missal  began  immediately.  Ambrosia  took  no  part 
whatever  in  it.  She  might  have  been  "  A  Statue  of 
a  Lady  Reading  a  Novel,"  for  any  appearance  of  in 
terest  she  showed.  Mrs,.  Ryan's  insinuations  and 
complainings,  her  scorn  and  her  anger,  were  but 
empty  air  to  Ambrosia,  who  sat  in  the  midst  of  her 
beautiful  draperies,  with  a  soft  smile,  reading.  Mr. 
Stuart  was  very  curt  and  adhered  strictly  to  busi 
ness.  Mr.  Brown,  his  companion,  showed  no  evi- 


292  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

dence  of  having  anything  to  do  with  the  matter, 
until  ordered  to  accompany  Mrs.  Ryan  and  assist  her 
in  packing  her  trunks.  And  no  objections  to  this 
order  affected  him.  He  went  quietly  but  authori 
tatively  with  the  discharged  servant. 

In  two  hours  the  house  was  empty.  In  three, 
there  was  another  housekeeper  and  the  various  mem 
bers  of  the  new  staff  of  servants  began  to  arrive. 
Ambrosia  was  satisfied  with  herself.  She  had  pre 
served  her  cold  indifference,  in  the  midst  of  words 
sharper  than  swords. 

The  house  felt  lighter  after  the  change.  There 
was  no  active  ill-will  and  hatred  to  defile  the  atmos 
phere.  Ambrosia  wrote  to  Clara  and  thanked  her 
and  then  began  to  busy  herself  about  the  beautiful 
furniture  of  her  home.  It  suddenly  struck  her  that, 
however  fine  Bessie's  house  might  be,  it  could  not 
excel  hers  in  its  noble  proportions  or  in  the  wealth 
of  rare  china  and  carved  woodwork.  She  was  think 
ing  of  Bessie  all  morning,  as  she  went  with  her  new 
housekeeper  through  the  handsome  rooms,  and  in 
the  afternoon  she  received  a  letter  from  Bessie.  It 
was  a  letter  full  of  annoyance  and  disappointment. 
Bessie  was  married. 

"You  know,  Amber,"  she  wrote,  "  dearest  Jack  not  being 
able  to  live  longer  without  seeing  me,  left  all  and  came  to  Paris. 
Having  seen  me,  he  vowed  he  would  not  leave  my  side  until  I 
was  his  wife.  And  when  I  looked  at  my  lovely  wedding-gown 
and  the  diamonds  Jack  had  brought  me,  I  really  felt  that  it 
would  be  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence  to  put  off  wearing  them. 
I  was  real  sorry  not  to  have  your  company  at  the  altar ;  but,  then, 
you  managed  to  do  without  mine  when  you  married,  and  I  hoped 
I  had  an  equal  strength  of  character.  And  all  the  Americans  of 
good  standing,  then  in  Paris,  were  present,  especially  Mrs. 
Smith-Martel,  who  gave  me,  just  before  the  ceremony,  a  delight- 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  293 

ful  party,  select  and  late,  and  the  nicest  sort  of  thing  I  can 
remember.  Altogether  my  wedding  was  the  finest  display  of  the 
pomps  and  vanities  I  am  ever  likely  to  see.  Of  course,  my  gown 
was  white  satin.  I  think  in  no  other  dress  would  a  marriage  be 
considered  legal,  but  it  was  slashed  with  silver  and  trimmed  with 
Brussels,  and  the  dress  was  made  to  suit  my  figure — which  is 
good  enough;  for  I  simply  told  Worth  I  would  not  have  my 
figure  made  to  suit  the  dress.  Still,  I  did  feel  bad  about  being 
married  anywhere  but  in  New  York,  until  I  was  dressed ;  then  I 
was  reconciled  to  myself.  For  I  looked  my  best  in  my  bride- 
clothes — and  so  few  brides  do — and  I  made  quite  a  sensation 
when  I  entered  the  church  leaning  on  father's  arm.  I  felt  that 
the  little  murmur  of  admiration  was  a  good  beginning  for  the 
gown.  Only  one  disagreeable  thing  happened  :  An  envious  lit 
tle  creature  from  San  Francisco  said  she  heard  Jack  was  enor 
mously  rich,  but  she  just  knew  I  had  not  married  for  money. 
And  I  told  her  that  if  I  had  done  so,  the  marriage  could  scarcely 
turn  out  worse  than  some  love  matches  I  have  seen.  And  that 
is  the  truth,  is  it  not,  dear  ?  We  shall  be  home  soon  after  this 
letter,  and  now  that  the  affair  is  over,  I  do  feel  thankful  to  enter 
New  York  society  as  '  Mrs.'  instead  of  Miss  Madison. 

"  P.  S.  I  had  nearly  forgotten  to  tell  you  that  Will  and  Louisa 
were  present.  Louisa  wore  an  exquisite  gown  of  cream-colored 
cloth,  trimmed  with  beaver;  and  a  '  granny' muff  of  the  same 
fur.  And  her  manner  is  so  charmingly  gentle  and  indolently 
quiet  that  I  am  not  astonished  that  Will  is  more  infatuated  than 
ever.  I  hope  we  shall  meet  very  soon.  'T  is  a  pity  the  sea  is  be 
tween  us,  for  we  shall  have  to  cross  it  when  the  winter  winds  are 
likely  to  be  crossing  also.  Good-bye. 

"  Your  affectionate  BESSIE." 

Ambrosia  did  not  feel  as  if  this  was  a  nice  letter. 
She  could  not  define  any  special  reasons  for  offense, 
but  she  felt  that  there  were  reasons.  And,  after  all, 
it  is  so  much  easier  to  have  a  good  orthodox  envy 
and  hatred  of  a  cousin  than  it  is  to  love  her  as  your 
self.  When  Robert  returned,  they  had  a  pleasant, 
gossipy  evening  over  the  letter  and  the  doctor's  ex- 


2  94  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

periences  in  Philadelphia.  For  Ambrosia,  remem 
bering  Clara's  advice,  affected  to  be  much  interested 
in  them,  and  did  really  feel  a  little.  He  was  also  full 
of  praise  at  some  changes  made  in  the  drawing- 
room  ;  and  they  laughed  a  little  over  Will's  enthrall- 
ment,  and  Robert  wondered  what  his  new  sister 
would  be  like. 

No  notice  was  taken  of  any  alteration  in  the  serv 
ice,  nor  was  it  probable  there  would  be  for  an  indefi 
nite  time.  Robert  was  accustomed  to  see  different 
men  and  women  waiting  on  the  table  and  passing 
through  the  rooms  and  halls.  These  people  were 
the  housekeeper's  business ;  and  a  remark  on  their 
appearance  or  ability  to  Ambrosia  was  all  the  atten 
tion  they  elicited. 

On  the  whole,  the  next  few  weeks  were  happy 
ones.  Bessie  came  home  just  before  Christmas,  and 
Ambrosia  was  pleased  that  she  did  not  make  the 
sensation  she  expected  to  make.  There  were  two 
other  brides  at  the  same  time,  and  interest  was 
divided  and  dresses  were  subjected  to  comparisons. 
Even  Louisa  detracted  from  Bessie's  individuality 
of  attention ;  for  Louisa's  beauty  had  been  greatly 
improved  by  marriage,  and  she  was  wonderfully 
lovely  in  a  rather  unusual  way.  Men,  weary  of  the 
assertive  prettiness  and  exceeding  cleverness  of  the 
New  York  girl,  liked  to  rest  themselves  in  the  lan 
guors  and  silences  of  Louisa.  Even  Ambrosia  de 
clared  it  to  be  refreshing,  after  the  agitation  of 
self-consciousness  which  distinguished  Mrs.  Jack 
Madison. 

Louisa  and  Will  were  in  splendid  apartments  at 
the  Windsor.  Louisa  had  no  desire  for  housekeep 
ing.  She  said  she  preferred  Will  to  a  house,  and 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  295 

Will  took  the  compliment  at  its  face  value.  She 
gave  no  entertainments ;  she  was  not  worried  about 
other  people ;  and  therefore  she  could  attend  prop 
erly  to  herself.  But  no  one  ever  imagined  she  was 
selfish.  She  was  only  devoted  to  Will ;  and  Will 
was  considerably  envied  by  men  less  fortunate. 
Robert  echoed  the  general  opinion.  He  thought  his 
new  sister  "  delightful,  lovely,  and  so  soothing !" 
He  said  so  frankly,  and  had  no  idea  that  his  candor 
made  Ambrosia  wretched. 

Yet  she  held  her  own  bravely.  Her  sumptuous 
dressing  befitted  her  noble  beauty  ;  and  as  Clara  had 
been  with  her  for  some  weeks,  she  was  able  to  carry 
all  her  complaints  to  her,  and  keep  a  bright  face  for 
her  husband  and  the  general  world.  She  had  almost 
forgotten  the  episode  of  her  change  of  servants,  and 
Mrs.  Ryan  had  passed  from  her  memory,  when,  one 
Sunday  afternoon,  Robert  asked  his  wife  to  ring  for 
the  woman,  as  he  wished  to  speak  to  her. 

For  a  moment  Ambrosia  hesitated,  then  she  an 
swered  calmly  : 

"  Mrs.  Ryan  has  not  been  here  for  some  weeks." 

"  Not  here  !     Why  ?" 

"  I  dismissed  her." 

"  Indeed  !     For  what  reason  ?" 

"  For  impertinence." 

"  You  should  have  told  me.  Mrs.  Ryan  was  an  old 
servant.  I  like  to  know  what  people  are  in  posts  of 
trust  in  my  house." 

He  spoke  with  an  air  of  offense,  and  Ambrosia  an 
swered  quickly : 

"  I  like  to  know  the  people  employed  in  your  office. 
You  told  me  I  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
them." 


296  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

''Then  you  dismissed  Mrs.  Ryan  because  I  em 
ployed  her  granddaughter  without  consulting  you  ?" 

"  Partly  so,  but  mainly  because  of  her  general  and 
constant  insolence.  If  you  wish  to  know  the  partic 
ulars,  you  can  ask  Mr.  Stuart,  my  father's  lawyer, 
whom  I  employed  in  the  business." 

"  You  employed  a  lawyer  to  interfere  in  my  do 
mestic  arrangements?  I  think  such  conduct,  even 
on  your  part,  savors  of  impertinence  to  me." 

"  You  said  I  was  autocratic  in  the  house,  and 
claimed  on  this  ground  a  right  to  be  so  in  your 
office.  I  have  never  since  made  an  inquiry  about 
the  people  you  chose  to  employ.  I  sent  away  all  the 
old  servants.  We  have  been  much  happier  and  much 
better  served  with  the  new  ones." 

"  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Ryan's  address  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  about  her.  If  you  will  ask  Mr. 
Stuart  all  she  said  about  you,  I  am  sure  you  will  say 
I  did  right." 

"  She  would  not  say  a  word  wrong  of  me.  Mrs. 
Ryan  was  in  my  employ  long  before  I  married  you." 

"  She  said  you  adored  her  granddaughter.  She 
said  the  girl  lived  here  by  your  orders.  She  said — 
Oh,  Robert,  she  said  dreadful  things,  which  I  have 
not  allowed  myself  to  think  of." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  his  face  was  dark  and 
angry,  and  Ambrosia  continued  : 

"  Why  do  you  not  ask  the  girl  for  the  address,  if 
it  is  of  so  much  importance  ?" 

"  The  girl  has  not  been  in  my  office  for  months. 
I  want  her  services  again.  I  intended  to  be  perfectly 
frank  with  you  concerning  her — more  fool  I !" 

"  Robert,  dear,  can  I  not  help  you  ?  I  have  been — " 

But  he  rose  in  a  passion  and  said  scornfully : 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  297 

"  You  help  !  What  can  a  man  expect  from  you 
but  hindrance  and  annoyance  ?  You  had  no  right  to 
take  so  much  upon  yourself  !" 

"  It  had  come  to  this,  Robert :  I  would  no  longer 
live  under  the  same  roof  with  the  creature.  Do  you 
prefer  Mrs.  Ryan  and  her  granddaughter  to  me? 
You  have  only  to  say  so." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  spare  me  your  heroics  !  What 
question  or  choice  can  there  be  between  you  and 
those  poor  women  ?" 

"  '  Poor  women  ?'  Say  wicked  women  !  They  ac 
cused  me  to  my  face  of  infidelity  to  you." 

"  You  must  be  mistaken." 

"  Ask  Mr.  Stuart." 

"  Kindly  desist  from  thrusting  a  lawyer  in  my 
face.  Your  own  words  are  sufficient." 

"  She  accused  me  of  loving  St.  Ange  better  than 
you ;  of  loitering  about  to  meet  him  ;  of  dressing 
myself  to  please  him— 

"Well?" 

"  No  !     It  is  shameful !" 

"  I  never  once  entertained  a  doubt  of  you." 

"  That  is  not  enough.  You  ought  to  protect  me 
from  the  doubts  and  evil  tongues  of  every  one.  I 
detest  St.  Ange  ;  and  it  is  true  you  force  him  on  my 
society  continually." 

"  As  I  told  you  before,  you  detest  any  one  who  is 
of  service  to  me." 

"  I  detest  him,  not  because  he  is  of  service  to  you, 
but  because  he  dares  pity  me.  Yes,  he  dares  love  me  ! 
And  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  that  you  have  sub 
jected  me  to  such  suspicions."  • 

"  You  have  not  deserved  them.   That  is  protection 

MlOUgli/' 


298  Girls  of  a  Feather. 


"  I  will  not  submit  to  St.  Ange's  company  any 
more." 

"  What  has  he  said  to  you  ?" 

"  Nothing- — in  words.     But  he  looks  at  me  in — " 

"  Pshaw  !  Every  cat  that  looks  at  a  king  does  not 
lose  its  eyes !  I  know  St.  Ange  and  all  his  vanity 
and  the  worship  women  give  him.  He  is  so  used  to 
*  looking '  at  women  that  he  is  not  conscious  of  the 
act.  I  do  not  believe  it  would  be  possible  for  you 
to  wrong  me  in  a  thought,  and  therefore  I  do  not 
propose  to  make  an  Othello  of  myself.  I  would  kill 
a  man  who  really  meant  to  wrong  me — or  you, 
either  !" 

"  Will  you  send  St.  Ange  away  ?" 

"  Not  from  the  office.  He  is  invaluable  to  me,  and 
especially  so  at  this  time." 

"  Well,  you  will  regret  it.  I  have  done  my  best — 
I  have  tried  so  hard — it  is  of  no  use !"  Then  she 
began  to  sob,  and  Robert  rose  and  left  the  room. 
As  he  did  so,  he  stumbled  upon  a  group  of  servants, 
giggling  and  bantering,  in  the  hall,  and  he  flew  into 
an  outrageous  passion,  and  sent  them  flying  before 
it.  For  a  woman  may  sob  away  her  grief,  but  there 
is  nothing  a  man  can  do  when  he  is  in  trouble  but 
I  abuse  somebody. 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  Clara  entered  the  room. 
The  atmosphere  was  yet  electrical  and  unhappy, 
and  the  weeping  wife  on  the  sofa  explained  in  some 
measure  the  occasion.  Clara  sat  down  by  her  side, 
a  little  fretful  herself  at  the  intrusion  of  such  un- 
Sabbath  conditions.  And  Ambrosia  dried  her  eyes 
•and,  with  burning  cheeks,  repeated  the  aggravating 
conversation.  This  time,  Clara  did  not  blame  her  at 
all.  She  only  wondered  at  the  stupidity  of  man, 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  299 

and  promised   herself  and  Ambrosia  that   Robert 
Carter  should  hear  a  little  reason  from  her  lips. 

"  But  why  are  you  making  a  baby  of  yourself?" 
she  asked  sharply.  "  That  is  not  the  way  to  manage 
any  unreasonable  man.  Go  and  wash  your  face, 
and  meet  your  husband  fairly  and  squarely.  You 
are  right,  and  in  his  heart  he  knows  you  are  right. 
That  is  the  reason  he  tried  to  hide  his  injustice  in 
a  show  of  bad  temper.  I  am  going  now  to  talk  to 
Robert.  I  think  he  will  listen  to  me." 

She  received  no  answer  to  her  first  tap  at  the 
library  door,  but  as  soon  as  she  spoke  Robert  said  : 

"  Come  in,  Clara  !" 

She  found  him  standing  at  the  window,  gazing 
into  the  dreary  street.  He  did  not  see  the  dripping 
rain,  nor  the  wet  pavements,  nor  the  casual  figures 
under  the  damp  umbrellas  passing  before  his  eyes. 
He  was  feeling  too  much  to  see  anything  exterior 
to  his  feelings.  He  looked  miserable,  and  Clara  was 
more  sorry  for  him  than  she  was  for  Ambrosia ; 
first,  because  Ambrosia's  weak  selfishness  and  want 
of  tact  irritated  her ;  second,  because  women  always 
pity  a  suffering  man  more  than  they  pity  a  sufferer 
of  their  own  sex.  Trouble  and  tears  are  in  some 
way  considered  the  natural  lot  of  women  ;  in  the  lot 
of  men  they  are  apparently  abnormal  and  accidental. 

Yet  Clara  certainly  considered  Robert  to  be  in 
fault,  and  she  told  him  so.  She  declared  Ambrosia 
to  have  been  justified  in  dismissing  Mrs.  Ryan.  She 
thought  she  had  every  womanly  reason  for  opposing 
the  employment  of  the  girl  Meta.  And  she  certainly 
was  quite  within  her  rights  in  demanding  the  exclu 
sion  of  St.  Ange  from  her  house. 

Robert  listened  with  some  impatience. 


3OO  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  It  seems,  then,"  lie  answered,  "  that  I  have  no 
rights.  I  may  not  interfere  about  the  servants  in 
the  house." 

"  No,  you  should  not,"  interrupted  Clara.  "  You 
had  told  Amber  they  were  her  province,  and  you 
would  not  have  thought  of  being  angry  about  Mrs. 
Ryan  had  she  not  been  a  relative  of  that  girl.  Would 
you  ?" 

Robert  was  silent. 

"Would  you,  Robert?    Answer  truly." 

"  That  girl  was  very  useful  to  me.  She  had  learnt 
the  technical  terms  ;  she  knew  my  method  of  com 
position  ;  she  could  wait  without  a  movement  for 
my  thoughts,  however  slow  they  were ;  she  often 
suggested  just  the  word  I  wanted." 

"  And  she  was  very  pretty  !" 

"  I  give  you  my  word,  Clara,  I  thought  no  more  of 
her  beauty  than  I  did  of  the  beauty  of  my  silver 
inkstand.  She  suited  me,  in  a  business  way,  and  I 
valued  her." 

"  But  when  you  found  out  that  her  presence 
troubled  Amber,  you  ought  to  have  dismissed  her 
at  once.  It  would  have  saved  a  deal  of  domestic 
sorrow,  and  there  are  ten  thousand  people  in  the  city 
able  to  take  her  place.  Is  there  one  you  could  put  in 
the  place  of  Amber?  Which,  then,  ought  to  have 
been  considered?" 

"  There  is  no  comparison.  The  one  woman  is  my 
wife ;  the  other  was  a  piece  of  office  furniture — a 
necessity  of  my  business." 

"  Robert,  I  will  tell  you  a  little  secret :  Amber  has 
been  practicing  the  typewriter  for  some  weeks.  She 
is  now  very  expert,  and  she  is  hoping  to  be  of  great 
ase  to  you." 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  301 

"  What  nonsense  !  What  utter  nonsense  !  The 
typewriter  is  but  a  secondary  thing,  and  of  no  use 
whatever  without  a  very  quick  and  intelligent  ap 
plication  of  stenography.  Who  set  her  upon  this 
piece  of  folly  ?" 

"  I  did.  I  found  her  ennuytfe  and  nervous  to  the 
last  point.  She  had  no  vital  interest  in  her  life.  I 
gave  her  this  hope,  and  she  seized  it  with  a  pitiful 
eagerness.  It  has  done  her  a  world  of  good.  Do  not 
be  a  cruel,  blundering,  practical  man  and  tell  her  it 
is  all '  utter  nonsense.'  That  would  be  almost  wicked. 
Think  of  the  hours  she  has  worked  and  encouraged 
herself  with  the  idea  of  pleasing  and  surprising  you. 
Give  her  something  to  copy,  ho  matter  how  useless ; 
only  let  her  think  she  is  helping  you." 

"  Clara,  that  is  altogether  wrong  and  foolish  ;  it  is 
a  very  false  position." 

"  Oh,  Robert,  it  is  so  often  the  great  wisdom  to  for 
get  we  are  wise  and  grandly  truthful  and  just  be  a 
little  foolish.  And  about  St.  Ange — do  send  him 
away." 

"  He  is  absolutely  necessary  to  me  for  a  few  weeks. 
We  are  in  the  midst  of  experiments  to  which  he 
holds  all  the  threads.  It  is  wicked  to  interfere  with 
studies  of  such  importance  for  a  mere  whim  of  per 
sonal  dislike." 

"  She  says  St.  Ange  infers,  hesitates,  suggests  a 
love  for  herself  and  a  pity  for  her  position,  which 
doubly  insults  her.  Surely,  this  is  a  thing  for  you 
to  feel  very  keenly." 

"  No !  I  do  not  care  for  St.  Ange's  vanity.  It  is 
inordinate.  No  one  believes  anything  he  says  con 
cerning  women.  I  trust  Amber  implicitly.  She 
knows  it  I  have  asked  her  to  treat  St.  Ange's 


302  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

childish,  pretensions  with  the  contemptuous  indiffer 
ence  which  is  all  they  deserve.  I  have  explained  to 
her  how  necessary  he  is  to  me  at  present.  As  soon 
as  I  can  supply  his  place  I  intend  to  do  so  ;  in  the 
meantime,  if  Amber  loves  me,  she  may  well  endure 
a  little  personal  annoyance  for  the  sake  of  investi 
gations  promising  so  much  good  to  humanity,  so 
much  fame  to  myself. 

"  I  think  you  are  wrong.     I  feel  you  are  wrong." 
"  Oh,  if  it  comes  to  feeling,  I  am  at  a  loss  for  argu 
ments.     I  thought  you  would  look  at   the  matter 
sensibly." 

"  I  am  a  woman,  and  I  feel  and  think  and  reason 
as  a  woman.  I  am  sorry  for  Amber.  I  know  she 
has  looked  forward  to  this  afternoon,  all  week.  It 
was  the  very  time  she  had  chosen  to  show  w^hat  she 
could  do  to  please  you.  She  was  expecting  love  and 
praise,  and  now  I  know  she  is  in  the  very  depths  of 
disappointment  and  despair.  Go  and  talk  to  her." 
"  She  is  so  unreasonable — 

"  You  made  her  so.  In  the  first  months  of  your 
married  life  you  treated  her  like  a  goddess.  All  her 
commands  were  obeyed  ;  all  her  wishes  granted. 
That  was  wrong.  I  hate  to  see  a  husband  on  his 
knees  to  a  wife.  And  if  the  wife  was  wise,  she 
would  hate  it  also  ;  for  such  adorers,  sooner  or  later, 
are  apt  to  rise  to  their  feet,  and  then,  likely  as  not, 
they  walk  away  altogether.  Robert,  you  love  Am 
ber  and  she  loves  you.  That  is  a  platform  wide 
enough  for  all  reconciliations.  She  is  woefully  dis 
appointed  and  discouraged.  Go  and  speak  kindly 
and  comfortably  to  her." 
"  Amber's  faults—" 
"  Oh,  it  is  a  sin  against  nature  to  talk  of  your  wife's 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  303 

faults.  Any  quarrel  must  be  judged  by  the  points 
at  which  it  violates  love,  justice,  decency,  etc.  It  is 
not  Amber.  It  is  the  wrong  to  love  and  justice." 

"  Amber  is  to  blame  entirely." 

"  No,  sir  !  You  must  not  teach  yourself  to  believe 
such  a  thing.  It  is  not  true." 

"  Then  I  see  no  reason  for  believing  that  acids 
will  make  salts  when  they  unite  with  alkalies  or  that 
the  sun  will  rise  to-morrow." 

"  There  is  no  use  talking  to  a  man  who  can  speak 
of  acids  and  alkalies  in  the  same  breath  as  his  wife. 
It  is  Sabbath  afternoon,  Robert ;  a  good  day  to  try 
to  reach  again  that  sweet,  unselfish  love  which  is  the 
image  of  the  Infinite  Love." 

"  I  do  not  think  any  earthly  love  is  that,  Clara.  I 
loved  Amber  when  I  married  her,  with  all  my  soul. 
Our  love  has  been  too  peculiarly  finite  to  be  an  im 
age  of  infinite  love." 

"  Yet  it  is  only  by  going  into  the  finite  on  all  sides 
that  we  advance  into  the  infinite.  Oh,  Robert,  go 
to  Amber  and  be  at  peace  !  Domestic  strife  is  like 
living  with  a  dragon." 

"I  know  that,  Clara." 

He  had  sat  down  and  his  face  was  hid  in  his  hands. 
So  Clara  left  him. 

After  a  little,  he  rose  up  and  began  to  read  over 
some  proof-sheets,  but  it  was  a  hopeless  task.  He 
laid  them  down,  and  lifted  a  letter  he  wished  to  an 
swer  at  length.  He  could  get  no  further  than  "  My 
dear  Professor."  His  heart  was  stronger  than  his 
mind.  Feeling  dominated  thought.  Ambrosia  ruled 
even  while  she  antagonized  him.  He  walked  about. 
He  opened  the  door  and  shut  it  again.  He  tidied 
the  loose  papers  upon  his  desk,  and  then  opened  the 


304  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

door  again.  There  was  a  sound  of  music,  and  he 
was  curious.  Ambrosia  had  played  so  little  lately. 
He  could  not  believe  it  was  she — now — after  such 
annoyance. 

So  he  walked  slowly  toward  the  drawing-room. 
The  door  was  open.  He  wondered  if  she  had  pur 
posely  left  it  open,  that  he  might  hear  her  at  the 
piano.  Then  he  asked  himself  why  she  would  do 
this.  Either  it  would  be  to  provoke  him  by  an 
affected  appearance  of  being  quite  happy,  independ 
ent  of  his  pleasure,  or  else  might  want  him  to  under 
stand  that  she  was  no  longer  cross,  that  she  was 
willing  to  bury  all  hard  words  in  song,  that,  in  fact, 
she  wished  to  call  him  to  her.  He  paused  at  the 
open  door  to  consider  which  of  these  two  motives 
was  the  more  likely  to  have  ruled  her. 

He  could  see  her  graceful  figure,  with  the  head  a 
little  drooped.  He  could  see  her  small  hands  slowly 
wandering  up  and  down  the  notes.  Her  attitude 
was  thoughtful  and  melancholic,  her  touch  irreso 
lute.  He  was  about  to  enter  the  room,  when  she 
struck  a  few  chords  and,  to  a  clear,  eager  melody, 
sang,  as  if  singing  only  to  her  own  heart : 

"  Dear,  if  I  to  thee  could  bring 
Any  gift  that  holds  no  sting, 
Any  cause  for  joy,  the  years 
Never  should  transmute  to  tears. 
I  should  tread  where  none  have  trod— 
None — except  the  Very  God !" 

The  words  went  home  like  a  nail  struck  by  a  mas 
ter  workman.  None,  truly,  but  the  "  Very  God  " 
could  give  a  gift  without  a  sting  or  a  joy  that  would 
not  sometimes  be  dimmed  with  tears.  Amber  felt 
it.  As  she  sang  she  lifted  her  head.  It  was  as  if 


"Let  Me  Alone  To-Night!"  305 

she  appealed  from  his  hasty  judgment  to  that  of  the 
"Very  God."  He  entered,  closed  the  door  softly 
and  went  to  her  side. 

And,  oh,  the  sweet  mystery  of  forgiveness,  when 
heart  meets  heart  and  two  are  one  without  explana 
tions  and  without  conditions  !  Ambrosia  was  only 
the  beloved  wife  at  this  hour.  She  never  defended 
herself,  and  she  never  reproached  him.  She  only 
said  such  sweet,  humble,  affectionate  things  as  break 
men's  stubborn  wills  all  to  pieces  and  make  them 
feel  what  a  dreadful  thing  it  is  to  measure  love  by 
prudence  or  justice  or  business  or  fame  or,  indeed, 
by  any  earthly  thing  but  Love's  own  self. 

And  after  this  state  had  been  attained,  it  was  an 
easy,  a  delightful  thing  to  watch  her  clever  manipu 
lation  of  the  mechanical  alphabet,  and  to  tell  her 
she  had  accomplished  a  wonder  and  would  be  of  the 
greatest  use  to  him.  Was  there  not  a  whole  box 
full  of  "  observations "  that  ought  to  have  been 
copied  months  ago  ?  So,  when  Clara  came  down  to 
dinner,  she  found  them  both  childishly  happy ;  and 
if  once  or  twice  a  traitor  suspicion  of  being  in  a 
fool's  paradise  did  cross  Robert's  mind,  he  said  to  it 
promptly : 

"  Let  me  alone  to-night !     Let  me  alone !" 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

TREADING   ON  A   HEART. 

Two  glances,  which  together  would  rejoice 
In  love,  now  lost  like  stars  beyond  dark  trees: 

Two  hands  apart,  whose  touch  alone  gives  ease. 

****** 

Such  are  we  now!     Ah,  may  our  hopes  forecast 

Indeed  one  hour  again,  when  on  this  stream 

Of  darkened  love,  once  more  the  light  shall  gleam. 

— Rossetti. 

Even  the  merciful  Christ  recognized  in  his  rule  of 
seventy  times  seven  that  there  must  be  a  limit  to 
human  forbearance  ;  and  those  who  value  love  ought 
to  understand  that  it  is  dangerous  to  approach  this 
limit.  Before  it  is  even  on  the  horizon,  how  much 
sweetness  has  become  bitterness  ;  how  much  tender 
ness  and  respect  has  been  lost  by  the  way  !  And 
what  a  long,  hard  road  back  it  must  be,  to  that  first 
happy  trysting-place  of  two  lives  ! 

The  morning  light  with  its  call  to  thought  and 
labor  brought  something  of  this  feeling  to  both 
Robert  and  Ambrosia.  Neither  of  them  made  any 
effort  to  define  it ;  they  only  felt  that  they  were  in 
the  shadow  of  the  wrong  road,  and  that  this  assur- 
[306] 


Treading  on  a  Heart.  307 

ing  of  each  other  that  the  sun  is  shining,  did  not  in 
reality  make  it  shine.  Robert's  very  first  considera 
tions  referred  to  that  abortive  typewriting.  He  was 
sure  that  the  false  position  it  compelled  him  to  take 
was  all  wrong.  He  was  angry  at  Clara  for  inciting 
Ambrosia  to  make  such  a  claim  upon  his  time  and 
forbearance  ;  Angry  at  Ambrosia  for  putting  herself 
in  such  a  fictitious  relationship  to  him  and  to  his 
work.  He  expected  from  her  the  sympathy  of  a 
wife,  and  he  had  to  humor  her  as  if  she  were  a  sick 
child.  He  thought  of  these  things  as  he  dressed, 
and  they  made  him  sorry  for  himself  ;  and  imparted 
a  flavor  of  personal  injury  to  his  attitude  and  speech, 
which  the  most  scrupulous  regard  to  polite  forms 
did  not  hide.  Ambrosia  could  not  misunderstand 
the  situation,  but  Clara  resented  her  opinions  with 
some  irritation. 

"Robert  is  not  cross,"  she  insisted;  "he  is  only 
full  of  professional  cares.  He  ought  to  be  so,  and  it 
is  not  right  of  you  to  call  business  '  crossness.'  Can 
not  you  be  content  to  let  'well  alone/  Amber?  I 
assure  you  it  is  an  easy  thing  to  make  any  man  cross 
by  perpetually  accusing  him  of  bad  temper." 

"  He  never  spoke  this  morning  of  the  papers  I  was 
to  copy  for  him.  I  do  not  believe  he  wants  me  to 
help  him." 

"  Do  you  think  that  your  copying  was  all  he  had 
to  remember  this  morning?  I  could  see  that  his 
book  was  full  of  engagements.  My  dear  Amber, 
you  must  not  imagine  that  the  world  turns  on  its 
axis  for  you  and  for  you  only." 

"  Even  you  are  unkind  to  me  lately,  Clara." 

"  A  complaining  woman  finds  every  one  unkino! 
that  will  not  complain  vdth  her.  I  saw  nothing 


308  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

wrong  this  morning  in  Robert's  behavior ;  it  was 
precisely  that  of  a  man  overcrowded  with  business 
cares.  I  have  no  doubt  the  papers  will  be  here  in 
an  hour." 

"  I  do  not  care  now  whether  they  come  or  not. 
They  were  evidently  papers  of  no  great  value,  or 
Robert  would  have  remembered  them  and  given  me 
some  directions  about  the  copy.  And  I  do  not  think 
he  will  send  them  to-day  at  all.  You  will  see." 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Bessie  this  morning.  She 
wishes  to  speak  to  me  about  a  '  little  bit  of  business,' 
she  says.  Will  you  go  with  me,  dear?" 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  something  Bessie  does  not  want 
me  to  know.  You  had  better  go  alone." 

"  Bessie  is  well  aware  that  I  have  no  secrets  from 
you.  Dress  and  come  with  me.  It  will  do  you  good, 
Amber." 

"  Your  invitation  shows  that  you  no  more  believe 
in  Robert's  promise  than  I  do.  However,  I  will  pay 
him  the  compliment  of  waiting  for  the  papers.  He 
will  not  send  them." 

"  Do  not  prophesy  evil  and  disappointment  for 
yourself.  Come  with  me.  You  will  find  the  papers 
here  when  you  return.  A  visit  to  Bessie  will  be 
better  for  you  than  sitting  still,  watching  and 
waiting." 

"  No.  I  will  do  my  duty  and  remain  at  home. 
They  may  come ;  though  I  do  not  believe  they 
will." 

"  Have  you  any  message  for  Bessie  ?" 

"No." 

"  Then  '  good-bye  '  for  a  few  hours.  After  I  have 
seen  Bessie,  there  is  some  shopping  for  the  farm  to 
do.  I  am  going  home  to-morrow." 


Treading  on  a  Heart.  309 

"  Clara  !     You  shall  not  go." 

"  Indeed  I  shall.  I  make  things  worse  instead  of 
better  here.  Until  you  can  feel  '  I  am  Robert,'  and 
Robert  can  feel  '  I  am  Amber/  I  do  not  expect  hap 
piness  will  come  to  either  of  you.  Separate  inter 
ests  make  separate  lives ;  and  you  are  not  one  but 
two.  Oh,  Amber,  do  not  cry  again !  Even  I  am 
weary  of  so  much  weeping ;  and  I  can  tell  you  that 
your  fine  eyes  are  being  ruined  by  the  habit." 

"  '  Habit !'  I  like  that.  People  should  not  get  the 
'  habit '  of  wounding  me." 

"  Good-bye  !  You  will  be  busy  and  happy  '  copy 
ing'  when  I  return." 

"  Do  not  go  back  to  Mayberry,  Clara — not  just 
yet." 

"  I  can  do  no  good  here,  Amber,  and  I  may  do 
harm.  In  this  matter,  I  must  do  as  I  think  right. 
Do  not  work  too  hard,  or  you  will  have  a  headache, 
and  that  spoils  everything." 

Ambrosia  smiled  scornfully  at  the  advice.  In  her 
heart  she  was  sure  she  would  not  work  at  all.  And 
when  people  perversely  bespeak  for  themselves  the 
evil  they  apprehend,  they  generally  get  their  fore 
boding.  No  papers  came,  and  no  message  or  apology. 
She  could  hardly  tell  whether  she  was  sorry  or  glad. 
Robert  had  not  taken  her  attempt  to  help  him  with 
the  enthusiasm  she  expected.  She  had  lost  all  faith 
in  the  plan,  and  therefore  all  interest  in  the  carrying 
of  it  out.  And  besides  there  was  the  pleasure  of 
saying  to  Clara :  '  I  told  you  so,'  which  pleasure  is 
one  of  the  greatest  unacknowledged  satisfactions  in 
life. 

Clara  was  very  late  home.  The  short  winter  day 
was  over,  and  the  lamps  on  the  Avenue  lighted.  She 


310  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

returned  in  the  Madisons'  carriage,  and  was  quite 
smiling   and   excited,   for  a  woman   so    calm   and 
equable.     Amber  was  dressed  for  dinner,  and  was 
sitting  idly  in  the   drawing-room.     She   had   been 
musing  on  many  unsatisfactory  things,  mainly,  how 
ever,  on  Will  and  the  loss  of  his  company  and  influ 
ence.     He  did  not  come  often  to  see  her  now,  and 
when  he  did  come  Louisa  was  always  with  him  ;  for 
Louisa  had  the  tact  Ambrosia,  with  all  her  clever 
ness,  lacked.     Louisa  had  fallen  with  the  greatest 
ease  into  Will's  peculiarities.     That  very  afternoon 
they  had  paid  her  a  visit  as  they  returned  from  a 
"meeting"  at  which  Will  had  been  chairman  and 
opened  the  proceedings  with  a  little  speech  ;  and 
Louisa  had  contrived  to  make  him  feel  that  the  on 
ward  march  of  Social  Virtues  depended  upon  him. 
The  special  subject  had  been  one  about  which  few 
women  could  feel  any  living  interest,  but  Louisa 
was  not  confounded  by  that  circumstance.     When 
Ambrosia  asked  her  puzzling  questions,  she  had  only 
to  smile  at  Will  adoringly,  and  request  him  to  an 
swer  Ambrosia's  difficulties ;  because  "  he  is  so  clever ; 
and  people   must  understand   him."     And  though 
Will  did  not  see  through  the  flattery,  Ambrosia  did  ; 
and  she  despised  him  for  his  conceited  acceptance 
of  such  patent  blandishments. 

Yet  for  all  that,  as  she  sat  thinking  and  thinking, 
she  acknowledged  to  herself  the  wisdom  of  Louisa's 
tactics.  She  knew  that  whenever  she  followed  simi 
lar  ones  with  Robert,  they  had  always  been  a  suc 
cess  ;  and  she  wondered  whether  it  was  now  too  late 
to  affect  the  interest  in  his  work  which  he  was  al 
ways  so  glad  to  receive.  Would  Robert  believe  in 
it  now  ?  Once  he  would  have  felt  sure  it  was  a  true 


Treading  on  a  Heart.  311 

sympathy  ;  but  there  had  been  many  "  enlightening1 
words  "  since  that  time. 

Clara  interrupted  these  speculations.  She  looked 
at  Ambrosia,  and  Ambrosia  said  with  an  air  of  in 
fallible  injury — "  I  told  you  they  would  not  come." 

"  I  am  sure  there  is  good  reason  for  the  neglect. 
Robert  will  explain." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  for  explanations.  How  is  Bessie  ?" 
"  Very  well.     She  sent  her  love  to  you." 
"  And  the  'business?'     Is  she  going  to  draw  up  a 
new  Social  Code — or  depose  the  rector — or  run  Jack 
for  the  Presidency?" 

"She  is  going  to  give  twelve  entertainments — 
card  parties,  dances  and  three  large  dinners.  Mr. 
Madison  says  her  youth  and  inexperience  require 
the  support  and  advice  of  some  adept  in  such  mat 
ters  ;  and  he  has  asked  me  to  stay  with  Bessie  for 
the  next  three  months." 

"  The  idea  !  Bessie  the  Wise  !  The  Wonderful ! 
The  Popular  Young  Matron !  Bessie  requiring 
counsel  or  help  of  any  kind  !  It  is  inconceivable  ! 
What  did  you  say  ?" 

"  I  have  agreed  to  remain  three  months  with 
her." 

"  That  is  too  bad,  Clara  !  It  is  a  shame  !  You  said 
you  could  not  remain  with  me." 

"  I  told  you  why.  I  can  do  no  good  here,  and  I 
am  miserable  in  an  atmosphere  of  discord  and  dis 
content." 

"  I  suppose  you  told  Bessie  that?" 
"  You  suppose  nothing  of  the  kind,  Amber." 
"  You  said  you  were  going  to  May  berry." 
"  Because  Mayberry  seemed  this  morning  to  be 
the  only  alternative.     I  am  not  anxious  to  go  there 


312  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

this  bleak  winter  weather.    Mayberry  is  not  a  cheer 
ful  place." 

"  But  do  not  go  to  Bessie !  Stay  with  me, 
Clara." 

"  Mr.  Madison  has  offered  me  one  thousand  dol 
lars  to  stay  with  Bessie.  You  see  it  is  a  business 
transaction.  I  am  poor.  A  thousand  dollars  lift  a 
great  weight  off  my  mind." 

"  You  never  would  take  money  from  Robert  and 
me." 

"  Anything  I  could  do  for  you  was  a  service  of 
Love.  I  would  not  take  money  for  such  service.  It 
is  different  with  Mr.  Madison.  He  offers  me  one 
thousand  dollars  because  he  knows  I  can  give  Bes 
sie  its  full  value  in  many  ways." 

"  Well !  It  is  only  another  blow !  They  come 
fast  and  thick.  First,  Bessie  takes  Will  from  me. 
Then,  she  takes  you.  All  this  winter  in  society  she 
has  pushed  me  aside.  People  have  refused  my  din 
ners  and  gone  to  hers.  They  have  praised  her 
house  and  her  gowns  and  her  little  dances  to  my 
very  face  and  never  said  a  pleasant  word  of  mine. 
Miss  Radway  used  to  be  my  friend  ;  she  is  now  Bes 
sie's.  I  used  to  be  constantly  noticed  in  the  Home 
Journal ;  now  the  Home  Journal  gives  itself  up  to 
Bessie.  The  rector  of  St.  Philips  used  to  come  to 
me  for  help  in  the  church  fairs  and  decorations; 
now  he  goes  to  Bessie.  Why  does  she  not  also  take 
Robert  from  me  ?  He  is  all  I  have  left." 

During  this  rapid,  inconsequent  complaint,  Clara 
sat  looking  dismally  into  the  fire.  She  knew  argu 
ment  was  a  useless  prolonging  of  lament  and  regret. 
She  was  almost  inclined  to  let  the  selfish  accusation 
pass  without  defense  ;  but,  after  a  short  silence,  Am- 


Treading  on  a  Heart.  313 


brosia  asked  sharply :  "  Well,  then  ?  Is  it  not  so, 
Clara?" 

"  No,"  she  answered.  "  No.  Will  never  belonged 
to  you.  He  could  not,  therefore,  be  taken  from  you. 
He  is  to-day  what  he  has  always  been — your  affec 
tionate  brother-in-law.  No  one  has  taken  me  from 
you.  I  am  this  hour  what  I  have  ever  been — your 
faithful  friend.  Ladies  who  refused  your  entertain 
ments  had  been  previously  disappointed  in  your 
acceptance  of  their  invitations — you  told  me  this 
yourself.  It  is  not  good  form  to  praise  anything  you 
have  or  do  to  your  face.  You  never  subscribed  to 
the  Home  Journal ;  it  tired  of  unrecognized  civilities. 
Bessie  takes  twelve  copies  of  it.  You  snubbed  Miss 
Radway  more  than  once  in  my  presence,  and  the 
rector  has  found  out  that  you  are  moody  and  unre 
liable.  The  world  is  like  a  looking-glass,  Amber ; 
it  shows  you  back  the  face  you  show  to  it." 

"  However,  do  not  go  to  Bessie.  I  cannot  bear  the 
idea." 

"  It  is  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune  to  me.  It  fills 
my  slender  purse  and  pays  my  obligations.  You 
ought  to  rejoice  with  me." 

"  I  wish  I  had  two  thousand  dollars !  I  would  give 
it  to  you  to  stay  away  from  Bessie." 

"  Do  you  indeed  think  so  meanly  of  me  ?  Do  you 
imagine  I  would  take  any  money  merely  to  gratify 
an  envious,  jealous  disposition  ?  Amber,  it  is  just 
such  reckless  insults  that  drive  away  all  love  from 
your  side." 

Into  this  element  of  disapproval  and  disappoint 
ment,  Robert — weary  and  dissatisfied  with  his  day's 
efforts — came.  Clara  was  grieved  and  silent.  Am 
ber  was  in  that  polite,  don't-care-for-anything  mood 


314  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

which  always  depressed  every  one  with  whom  she 
came  in  contact.  Before  dinner  was  over,  the  very 
man  waiting  on  them  was  infected  by  its  influence 
and  passed  the  pate's  and  the  coffee  with  a  dejected, 
downcast  melancholy,  which  it  was  impossible  not 
to.  feel. 

Suddenly  Robert  remembered  the  papers ;  then 
he  knew  what  was  the  matter.  And  to  apologize  for 
forgetfulness  is  never  an  easy  thing.  He  said  truly 
that  he  had  found  an  important  case  waiting  for  him, 
and  that  he  had  been  hurried  from  duty  to  duty  all 
day,  until  his  exhaustion  reminded  him  of  the  din 
ner  hour.  But  he  perceived  that  the  explanation 
was  a  lame  one,  so  far  as  Ambrosia  and  Clara  were 
concerned.  They  believed  him,  but  they  thought 
of  the  proverb,  "Where  there  is  a  will  there  is  a 
way,"  and  he  felt  the  influence  of  the  thought,  though 
it  was  unspoken. 

Later  in  the  evening  Ambrosia  told  her  husband 
of  Mr.  Madison's  offer  to  Clara. 

"  And  Clara  has  accepted  it,"  she  added  with  a 
sigh. 

"  She  has  done  right." 

"  She  would  not  stay  with  us." 

"  I  do  not  blame  her.  We  gave  her  no  pleasure  ; 
we  offered  her  no  money.  Why  should  she  waste 
her  life  in  our  house  ?" 

"  I  thought  she  loved  me." 

"  You  expect  too  much  from  Love,  Amber.  Love 
is  elastic,  but  it  may  be  strained  too  far." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  nodding  brightly  back. 
"  We  both  have  that  fault,  Robert." 

Then  he  laughed,  and  the  laugh  cleared  the  fog 
away,  and  the  evening  went  pleasantly  onward. 


Treading  on  a  Heart.  315 

For  Ambrosia  began  to  be  chatty  and  agreeable,  and 
Robert  could  never  resist  her  in  such  a  mood.  She 
criticised  Bessie  and  ridiculed  St.  Ange  and  imitated 
Will's  uxorious  adoration  of  his  wife,  and  scintillated 
with  those  little  unkind  remarks  about  all  their  ac 
quaintance  which  every  one  likes  very  well  to  hear. 

The  next  day  the  delayed  papers  for  "  copy  "were 
sent  early.  Ambrosia  looked  at  them  suspiciously. 
She  saw  they  were  what  she  called  "ancient."  If 
they  were  really  of  importance,  why  had  they  been 
suffered  to  lie  in  an  unfinished  condition  so  long  ? 
Then,  as  she  proceeded  to  make  them  fair  and  intel 
ligible,  she  was  met  by  constant  difficulties — ellipses, 
contractions  and  technical  expressions  of  which  she 
could  make  neither  sense  nor  reason.  It  appeared 
to  her  that  whole  sheets  were  lost  or  had  got  mixed 
up  with  other  sheets  to  which  they  had  no  reference. 
In  spite  of  her  eager  desire  to  do  excellent  work,  she 
could  not  avoid  the  depressing  feeling  that  it  was 
utterly  useless  work. 

This  supposition  was  strengthened  by  the  fact 
that  Robert  did  not  trouble  himself  by  its  correct 
ness.  He  asked  indeed  how  she  was  getting  on 
with  the  work,  and  said :  "  That  is  splendid  "—and 
then  dismissed  the  subject.  Every  day  she  became 
more  and  more  certain  that  she  was  being  deceived 
and  played  with  in  a  matter  so  vital  to  herself. 

One  day,  after  a  week's  disappointing  work,  she 
met  with  some  difficulties  beyond  her  power  to 
unravel.  She  had  spoken  of  similar  ones  several 
times  and  felt  that  Robert  found  the  explanation  to 
be  very  tiresome.  Her  heart  failed  her ;  she  cov 
ered  the  instrument  hastily,  threw  the  papers  into  a 
drawer  and  went  out  to  pay  some  calls.  Every- 


3 1 6  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

where  she  was  met  with  the  same  expressions  of 
polite  wonder  or  polite  satisfaction,  regarding  the 
assistance  of  Bessie  by  Mrs.  Shepherd.  So  proper  ! 
So  admirable  !  Did  she  notice  how  delightfully  the 
Madison  dinner  passed  ?  No  delays  and  equally  no 
hurry.  How  efficient  the  service  !  How  noiseless  ! 
How  well  arranged  the  minutest  details  !  And  what 
could  Amber  do  but  agree  with  all  said  ? 

A  few  such  calls  were  sufficient  to  put  her  out  of 
humor  with  the  world  and  herself,  and,  as  she  was 
gloomily  riding  down  the  Avenue,  she  passed  Bes 
sie's  carriage.  Clara  was  with  her ;  but  both  heads 
were  bent  over  something  in  Bessie's  hand.  They 
were  smiling  and  talking  and  so  occupied  with  their 
affairs,  that  they  never  saw  Ambrosia.  There  was 
no  reason  that  she  should  take  any  offense  at  this 
circumstance ;  but  she  did  feel  hurt  and  humbled, 
and  she  had  a  crushing  sense  of  defeat. 

She  told  herself  that  Bessie  had  every  fault  she 
had — she  was  just  as  self-willed,  just  as  selfish,  just 
as  dictatorial.  How  was  it  then  that  every  one 
liked  Bessie,  and  no  one  really  liked  her?  She 
declared  that  she  could  not  understand  it ;  and  yet 
the  reason  was  plain  enough.  Bessie  took  the 
trouble  to  hide  her  faults  under  the  authorized 
disguises.  Bessie  could  cloak  her  self-will  under 
charming  little  flatteries,  and  by  the  offer  of  resig 
nations  no  one  would  think  of  accepting.  Her  self 
ishness  was  perhaps  really  greater  than  Ambrosia's, 
but  she  had  a  variety  of  vails  for  it ;  and  when  no 
vail  was  possible,  she  could  ask  for  her  desire  "  as  a 
great  favor,"  or  prettily  hector  or  bluff  it  with  jokes 
and  smiles  until  submission  to  her  was  a  pleasure. 

In  fact,  Bessie  condescended  to  use  the  various 


Treading  on  a  Heart.  3 1 7 

weapons  with  which  Nature  has  endowed  woman. 
She  liked  to  win  her  way  by  the  cajoleries,  the  wit, 
the  underhand  compliments  and  the  open  flatteries 
which  make  maid  or  wife  invincible.  Ambrosia 
stood  upon  her  beauty  and  her  rights,  forgetting 
that  both  husband  and  friends  may  be  pleased  to 
grant  a  favor  or  bestow  a  gift  where  they  would  sulk 
over  the  same  grant  if  asked  as  a  due  and  refuse  the 
same  gift  if  demanded  as  a  right. 

St.  Ange  came  home  with  the  doctor  to  dinner, 
and  it  annoyed  Ambrosia.  The  man  offended  her 
in  every  way,  and  he,  this  night,  prevented  the  con 
fidential  talk  she  had  hoped  to  have  with  her  hus 
band.  In  fact,  the  talk  was  mostly  professional ;  but 
Ambrosia's  sensitive  self-esteem  whispered  to  her 
that  St.  Ange  had  been  asked  for  that  very  reason. 
She  suspected  that  Robert  had  feared  the  typewriter 
and  its  explanations.  She  suspected  it  still  more 
when,  after  dinner,  Robert  asked  her  to  play  and 
St.  Ange  to  accompany  the  music.  "Anything 
rather  than  give  himself  to  my  society,"  she  thought. 
"  He  will  even  annoy  me  with  a  man  I  detest ;"  and 
when  she  turned  from  the  piano  and  found  Robert 
had  fallen  asleep  under  the  influence  of  the  music, 
she  was  ready  to  cry  with  vexation. 

St.  Ange  looked  at  the  sleeping  man  with  an  un 
mistakable  contempt,  and  then  he  looked  at  Am 
brosia.  There  was  a  great  deal  in  the  look,  far  more 
than  she  ought  to  have  seen  or  than  she  desired  to 
see. 

"  Will  Mrs.  Carter  play  again  the  '  Nocturne  'for 
my  sake  ?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  No,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  am  weary.  I  was  play 
ing  for  Doctor  Carter,  and  it  seems  that  he  also  is 


3 1 8  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

weary.     I  will  not  disturb  him.    Sleep  is  better  than 
music." 

The  words  were  politely  scornful,  and  she  rose 
from  the  instrument  and  walked  with  a  nonchalant 
air  to  a  table  on  which  stood  a  reading-lamp.  A 
chair  and  some  illustrated  papers  were  convenient, 
and  she  sat  down  and  screened  her  face  with  the 
pictured  pages.  Her  whole  attitude  was  that  of  a 
wife  protecting  the  rest  of  an  exhausted  husband. 
If  St.  Ange  spoke,  she  answered  only  in  whispered 
monosyllables ;  and  when  he  finally  said  he  must 
really  go,  she  only  moved  her  handsome  head  in  an 
acquiescent  bow. 

But,  oh,  how  hot  and  angry  her  heart  was  !  Though 
she  neither  moved  nor  spoke,  she  was  arraigning 
her  husband  with  a  pitiless  justice  that  listened  to 
no  extenuating  circumstances.  "  The  man  has  either 
an  insane  trust  in  my  affection  for  him,  or  he  is  to 
tally  indifferent  both  to  my  honor  and  his  own,"  she 
thought.  "  Most  women  would  have  indulged  them 
selves  in  a  little  flirtation  with  so  handsome  and 
sympathetic  a  lover,  and  Robert  may  try  even  me 
too  far.  I  wonder  " — then  she  let  her  thoughts  drift, 
and  the  way  they  took  she  did  not  care  conscien 
tiously  to  follow.  She  sat  passive  until  they  came 
sneaking  back  to  her  recognizance,  and  the  only  an 
swer  she  made  to  their  dumb  suggestions  was  : 
"  It  would  serve  him  right,  if  I  did  !" 
Whatever  this  contemplated  revenge  was,  she  sat 
brooding  over  it  until  Robert  sprang  to  his  feet 
with  a  sense  of  having  been  recreant  in  some 
duty. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Amber,"  he  said,  coming  to 
ward  her.     "  I  have  been  asleep.     How  very  rude 


Treading  on  a  Heart.  319 

and  unkind.  You  were  playing  for  me,  too.  Will 
you  forgive  me  ?  I  am  so  tired." 

"  It  is  immaterial." 

"Where- is  St.  Ange?" 

"  I  dismissed  him." 

"  I  am  sorry.  I  wanted  him  again.  Have  I  slept 
long  ?" 

"  About  an  hour  and  a  half." 

"  I  wish  you  had  kept  St.  Ange.  I  wanted  him  to 
correct  some  notes." 

For  a  few  moments  she  did  not  answer ;  then  a 
perverse  determination  to  know  the  truth — which  is 
often  the  same  thing  as  knowing  the  worst — came 
forcibly  to  her ;  and  she  said  ; 

"  Robert,  I  can  neither  make  beginning  nor  end  of 
the  papers  I  am  now  copying.  I  wish  you  would 
come  to  my  room  and  look  over  what  I  have  done, 
and  tell  me  how  to  go  on." 

"  Oh,  not  to-night,  Amber." 

"  But  I  can  copy  no  further  without  help.  Come, 
Robert." 

"  I  really  cannot  to-night.  I  am  tired  out.  Do 
have  some  consideration." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  go  on  with  the  work  ?" 

"  Please  yourself.  Work  that  I  have  to  direct  and 
correct  is  very  tiresome.  I  might  as  well  do  it  with 
my  own  hands." 

"  You  had  to  direct  and  correct  '  that  girl's '  copy, 
I  suppose?" 

"  Of  course,  at  first.  For  that  reason  I  very  natu 
rally  dislike  to  change  a  person  whom  I  had  taught 
the  methods  of  my  work." 

"  I  do  not  believe  the  papers  you  have  given  me 
to  copy  are  of  any  value." 


320  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Robert  was  silent. 

"  One  of  them  is  dated  ten  years  ago.  As  far  as  I 
can  judge,  the  results  specified  are  far  behind  time." 

"  They  are." 

"  And  you  do  not  care  anything  about  them  !" 

" How  do  you  know  that,  Amber?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  Robert.  Do  you  think  I  am  a 
child  or  a  fool  ?  You  have  offered  me  a  great  insult ; 
first,  in  supposing  I  have  not  intelligence  enough  to 
perceive  these  papers  were  premature  and  had  been 
long  superseded ;  second,  in  using  my  time  and 
strength  as  you  would  use  that  of  a  meddlesome  im 
becile  who  must  be  employed  on  something  or  any 
thing  to  keep  her  out  of  mischief  !" 

"  I  told  Clara  the  situation  was  all  wrong." 

"  Oh  !   Clara  is  in  it  also  ?" 

"  '  In  it !'  What  do  you  mean  ?  Clara  told  me  that 
you  had  learned  to  use  a  typewriter  for  my  sake  and 
begged  me  not  to  disappoint  you.  Typewriting 
without  stenography  is  as  useless  as  Chaldaic  to  me. 
I  did  the  best  I  could.  I  told  Clara  it  was  a  false 
position." 

"  So  both  Clara  and  you  have  been  making  a  baby 
of  me — giving  me  a  toy  to  keep  me  in  good  humor. 
And  I  dare  say  Clara  has  told  Bessie  ;  and  you  have 
complained  to  St.  Ange ;  and  I  am  a  private  laugh 
ing-stock  for  as  many  as  Bessie  and  others  like  to 
laugh  with.  It  is  a  shame !  There  is  no  excuse  for 
such  treatment !" 

"  I  meant  nothing  but  kindness,  Amber.  The 
papers  were  fading  out." 

"  They  ought  to  be  burnt." 

"  They  are  interesting  records  of  my  first  experi 
ments." 


Treading  on  a  Heart.  321 

"  Put  them  in  the  fire." 

"  You  may  put  them  in  the  fire  if  you  wish." 

"  I  thought  so.  It  is  intolerable  to  be  fooled  by 
you,  Robert !  I  could  have  borne  it  better  from  any 
one  else." 

"  I  tell  you  I  meant  to  be  kind." 

"  You  sent  the  papers  to  me,  as  you  would  give  a 
rattle  to  a  crying  baby.  You  ought  to  have  explained 
about  the  stenography.  Am  I  so  irrational  that  I 
cannot  bear  the  truth  ?  Oh,  Robert !  Robert !" 

"  It  was  wrong.  It  was  a  mistake,  Amber.  I  never 
approved  myself  for  deceiving  you.  It  was  always 
a  great  trial  to  further  the  deceit  by  noticing  the 
work  at  all.  I  do  not  wonder  you  detected  my  in 
difference  to  it.  I  was  more  than  indifferent ;  I  was 
angry  at  the  position  it  forced  me  to  take." 

"  And  I  am  angry  also  !  You  had  no  right  to  put 
me  in  such  a  position.  You  ought  to  have  told  me 
the  truth." 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  truth  now.  I  dislike  seeing 
you  at  the  typewriter.  You  are  out  of  your  sphere. 
You  are  my  wife,  my  friend  and  my  companion.  You 
are  not  my  typewriter.  You  lost  caste  in  my  eyes 
by  the  mechanical  employment ;  you  put  yourself 
among  associations  derogatory  to  the  ideal  I  had  al 
ways  kept  of  you.  My  wife  is  my  wife  ;  she  is  mis 
tress  of  my  heart  and  home.  I  did  not  like  to  see 
you  my  servant  in  any  capacity.  And  the  sound  of 
a  typewriter  in  my  house  is  unpleasant  to  me  ;  it  is 
bringing  the  office  into  my  hours  of  rest ;  and  I  do 
not  like  it !  I  do  not  like  it  at  all !" 

He  spoke  with  haste  and  with  gathering  passion, 
and  Ambrosia  perceived  that  in  his  eyes  she  had 
been  altogether  wrong  in  the  matter.  She  under- 


322  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

stood  now  the  indefinite  lowering  of  his  usual  fine 
manner  toward  her.  But  all  the  same,  she  thought 
he  ought  to  have  let  the  motive  ennoble  the  act. 
Love  should  have  glorified  the  mistake  and  glorified 
her  in  it.  But  that  expectation,  though  beautiful  in 
theory,  rarely  if  ever  succeeds  in  reality.  Even  in 
housekeeping  duties,  the  wife  who  makes  herself  a 
domestic  woman  is  too  often  treated  like  a  domestic. 

After  his  angry  definition  of  the  situation,  Robert 
rose  and  moved  the  periodicals  about  the  table  and 
the  music  on  the  piano  like  a  man  looking  for  some 
thing  he  had  lost.  He  thought  it  was  his  reading- 
glasses  ;  it  was  in  reality  a  loss  so  great  that  he 
could  not  define  it.  And  he  was  worried  and  aston 
ished  at  the  attitude  of  Ambrosia.  She  contradicted 
at  this  hour  all  his  previous  conceptions  of  her  char 
acter.  He  had  been  sure  that  whenever  this  expla 
nation  came,  it  would  be  with  a  passion  of  tears  and 
reproaches  ;  and  for  this  ebullition  he  had  prepared 
himself.  But  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  dry-eyed 
anger  and  the  proud  look  of  injury  and  injustice 
which  enveloped  like  an  atmosphere  the  beautiful 
woman  sitting  motionless  before  him.  He  wished 
her  to  speak,  to  make  some  movement,  and  she 
appeared  to  have  forgotten  that  he  was  in  the  room. 
She  was  more  aggravating  than  the  old,  impulsi  ~, 
demonstrative  Ambrosia. 

At  length  he  went  to  the  door,  opened  it  and,  as 
he  stood  with  the  handle  in  his  hand,  said  :  "  Good 
night,  Amber !  I  hope  you  will  have  forgotten  this 
little  affair  by  the  morning." 

She  did  not  move  nor  answer  him  ;  but  when  he 
had  closed  the  door,  she  whispered :  "Forgotten — 
this  little  affair — by  the  morning  !" 


Treading  on  a  Heart.  323 

Robert  did  not  see  his  wife  in  the  morning  at  all. 
Her  maid  said  she  had  been  restless  all  night  and 
had  not  fallen  asleep  until  the  hour  for  rising.  But 
the  circumstance  did  not  trouble  Robert  much.  He 
was  thankful  to  be  rid  of  such  a  disagreeable  decep 
tion  ;  and  he  fully  expected  the  domestic  storm 
would  blow  over  before  night.  He  knew  it  was  Am 
brosia's  reception  day,  and  doubtless  something 
would  happen  to  make  her  forget  his  offense. 

Yet  he  found  it  impossible  to  be  at  peace  with 
himself.  The  look  on  his  wife's  face,  when  he  told 
her  to  put  the  papers  in  the  fire,  haunted  him.  It 
was  the  look  of  a  proud  woman  who  had  received  a 
lash.  He  wished  too  he  could  forget  her  eyes  ;  the 
reproach  and  the  wounded  love  in  them  were 
troublesome.  What  had  he  done  wrong,  he  asked 
himself,  fretfully.  And  something  within  him 
answered :  "  Put  your  foot  on  a  woman's  heart ! 
That  is  all."  And  it  was  not  a  pleasant  thought  to 
carry  all  day  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   VIPER   IN   THE   BREAST. 

We  shape  ourselves  the  joy  or  fear 
Of  which  the  coming  life  is  made, 

And  fill  our  future's  atmosphere 

With  sunshine  or  with  shade.         — Raphael. 

There  are  hours  in  every  life  that  are  transform 
ing,  and  Ambrosia  had  come  to  such  a  fateful  time. 
Something  had  happened,  and  she  was  a  different 
woman.  She  could  now  see  the  Ambrosia  that "  had 
been  "  as  others  doubtless  saw  her,  and  she  frowned, 
at  the  phantom  woman.  Her  memory  was  busy, 
though  she  did  not  take  note  of  its  labor  ;  and  she 
felt  a  weight  of  sorrow  upon  her  heart,  though  she 
asked  not  whether  it  was  the  bearing  of  the  old 
sorrow  or  the  boding  of  some  new  harvest  of  tares. 

Worn  out  with  the  tumult  of  the  night,  she  slept 
long  and  heavily  ;  and  when  consciousness  returned 
her  first  remembrance  was  of  a  certain  look  in  her 
husband's  eyes  when  she  answered  his  question 
about  St.  Ange.  At  the  time  she  had  taken  no  spe 
cial  note  of  it,  but  the  first  thought  of  the  morning 
is  often  a  revealing  thought,  and  she  knew  now  that 
this  look  was  the  most  important  thing  that  had  hap 
pened.  Robert  was  at  last  jealous.  He  might  not 
[324] 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast.  325 

yet  be  aware  of  the  feeling ;  but  he  was  jealous. 
There  was  no  doubt  of  it.  She  remembered  clearly 
the  anger  and  doubt  in  the  glance  he  gave  her,  when 
she  said  of  St.  Ange  :  "  I  dismissed  him." 

She  was  correct  in  her  judgment.  Those  three 
words  had  roused  instant  and  involuntary  queries  in 
Robert's  heart.  Why  did  Ambrosia  dismiss  him  ? 
Had  the  conceited  fellow  presumed  too  far  ?  If  so, 
could  such  presumption  have  come  without  previous 
unwarrantable  license  ?  Why  was  he  not  awakened  ? 
Was  it  possible  that  Ambrosia's  antipathy  was  an 
affected  one  ?  "  At  any  rate,"  he  thought,  "  dishonor 
comes  too  near  when  it  even  dares  question  a  woman 
at  all." 

At  the  time  he  had  refrained  himself  from  giving 
any  voice  to  his  suspicions,  because  they  were  so 
startlingly  new  to  him  that  he  could  not  determine 
whether  they  were  worthy  of  consideration  or  not. 
But  he  did  know  that  Ambrosia  would  resent  them 
in  a  way  which  would  very  likely  induce  unpardon 
able  recrimination.  So  he  took  the  doubt  and  the 
queries  arising  from  it  to  bed  with  him,  and  slept 
the  sleep  such  companions  give. 

In  a  measure  Ambrosia  divined  the  situation,  and 
it  gratified  her.  "  I  hope  he  is  jealous,"  she  thought. 
"  He  deserves  the  lonely,  wretched  pain.  He  said  I 
was  jealous  without  cause.  Now  let  him  be  jealous 
without  cause.  He  will  find  out  that  an  imaginary 
cause  can  give  a  deal  of  suffering."  And,  without 
conscious  intention,  she  permitted  herself  the  pleas 
ure  of  playing  to  this  card.  If  she  met  St.  Ange 
while  driving,  she  asked  him  to  accompany  her. 
Robert  had  often  asked  St.  Ange  to  dinner  to  please 
himself  ;  Ambrosia  now  asked  him,  to  annoy  Robert. 


Girls  of  a  Feather. 


The  evenings  were  spent  in  music,  and  Robert  now 
watched  instead  of  sleeping.  He  watched,  and,  of 
course,  he  saw  many  suspicious  signs  —  many  covert 
meanings  in  the  words  of  the  songs  sung.  Their 
hands  met  in  the  turning  of  the  pages.  There  were 
directions  given  by  the  upward  glancing  of  Am 
brosia  or  the  downward  glancing  of  St.  Ange,  that 
seemed  preposterously  uncalled-for.  Did  the  jealous 
ever  lack  food  for  suspicion?  Robert  now  found, 
even  in  the  familiarities  he  had  encouraged,  plenty 
of  material  to  set  his  heart  on  fire.  He  tried  to 
speak  to  Ambrosia  about  St.  Ange.  She  shrugged 
her  shoulders  and  turned  the  subject,  and  he  had 
not  the  courage  to  pursue  it.  But  he  suffered  more 
and  more  every  day,  and  Ambrosia  appeared  to  be 
quite  unconscious  of  his  annoyance.  For  she  did 
not  do  or  say  a  single  thing  beyond  the  limits  given 
by  her  previous  relations  with  St.  Ange.  It  was  only 
that  Robert  had  begun  to  see  them  in  a  new  light, 
both  as  regarded  himself  and  the  world.  But  how 
could  he  now  complain  of  St.  Ange's  frequent  pres 
ence  in  his  house  and  at  his  table  ?  How  make  ob 
jections  to  his  presents  of  flowers  or  to  his  accom 
paniments  on  the  violin?  Had  he  had  permitted 
such  familiarities,  and  what  reason  but  one  could  he 
admit  for  objecting  to  their  continuance  ?  Ambrosia 
gave  him  nothing  to  found  a  complaint  on  ;  and  yet 
he  was  not  satisfied.  In  fact,  he  watched  his  wife 
and  St.  Ange  in  about  the  same  miserable  anxiety 
that  a  man  bitten  by  a  sick  dog  watches  for  evidence 
of  rabies. 

He  could  find  nothing  in  Ambrosia's  attitude  on 
which  to  ground  a  reasonable  complaint.  And  yet 
there  was  a  difference.  She  was  seen  more  fre- 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast.  327 

quently  in  public  with  the  handsome  young  doctor. 
The  man  himself  was  sensible  that  his  company 
was  not  repulsed,  as  it  had  been  ;  and  in  the  vanity 
of  his  heart  he  believed  that  tolerance  might  be 
come  something  warmer.  For  that  Ambrosia  might 
be  making  a  tool  of  him  was  an  incapable  concep 
tion  to  a  man  so  confident  of  his  own  "  fatal  beauty." 

Alas,  how  easily  things  grow  wrong,  and  then 
grow  worse  !  One  little  advance  permitted  to  a  dis 
honorable  lover  makes  so  many  others  possible.  St. 
Ange  lost  no  opportunity  that  offered  for  showing 
himself  with  his  patron's  wife.  He  was  so  vile,  that 
he  kept  encouraging  his  hopes  with  the  proverb, 
"  Give  a  dog  a  bad  name,  and  then  you  may  hang 
him  ;"  only  he  read  it  thus,  "  Give  a  woman  a  bad 
name,  and  you  may  make  her  reckless  enough  to 
deserve  it."  For  this  end  he  haunted  Ambrosia's 
presence  and,  seen  or  unseen  by  her,  threw  into  his 
face  and  manner  the  adoration  of  a  lover. 

In  the  meantime  he  was  made  to  feel  that  there 
was  a  great  change  in  his  business  relations  to  Doc 
tor  Carter.  He  perceived  that  the  latter  was  jealous 
and  was  glad  of  the  circumstance.  He  had  a  belief 
that  it  was  her  husband's  unbounded  trust  in  her 
fidelity  that  made  Ambrosia  so  careful  hitherto  not 
to  abuse  such  unqualified  faith.  A  quarrel  might 
precipitate  events.  And  if  a  chance  is  given  to 
evil,  it  is  able  to  procure  itself  other  chances.  For 
day  after  day  Robert,  being  unable  to  endure  St. 
Ange's  presence  in  the  office,  coldly  excused  it ; 
and  thus  provided  for  the  traitor  the  opportunities 
he  desired.  Nor  was  the  unhappy  husband  obliv 
ious  of  this  effect;  only  he  thought  that  if  Am 
brosia  was  true,  she  would  be  true  under  all  circum- 


328  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

stances;  and  if  not —  No— he  had  no  proof  of 
"  not."  He  would  not  carry  on  an  argument  that 
was  based  upon  "  not." 

Part  of  February  and  all  of  March  went  on  in  the 
I  miserable  uncertainty  which  Robert  had  so  long  and 
so  carefully — or  rather  so  carelessly — prepared.  He 
began  now  to  understand  why  "  the  appearance  of 
evil "  ought  to  be  so  scrupulously  avoided — began  to 
see  that  an  "  appearance  of  evil  "  only  was  quite  able 
to  blight  the  happiness  of  heaven  and  stain  the  good 
name  of  an  angel  of  light.  How  foolish  he  had 
been !  How  reckless !  What  temptation  he  had 
thrown  Amber  into  !  If  the  dear  woman  had  with 
stood  it,  how  proud  he  ought  to  be  of  her  !  If  she 
had  not  withstood  it — certainly  Ambrosia  was  being 
well  avenged  for  all  the  unnecessary  pain  Robert 
had  given  her  about  the  girl  Meta. 

She  partly  understood  this,  and  a  womanly  instinct 
which  she  did  not  examine  led  her  to  make  the 
uttermost  of  her  attractions.  Never  had  she  dressed 
with  more  taste  and  splendor,  never  had  she  been 
so  evenly  tempered,  so  generally  pleasant,  so  calm 
and  so  considerate.  She  did  not  now  ask  Robert  to 
leave  his  studies  and  go  out  with  her ;  but  she  came 
to  him  always  before  going,  "  because  she  wished  to 
have  his  admiration  before  all  others."  She  came 
to  him  after  every  entertainment,  and  drove  even 
jealousy  away  with  her  confidences  and  her  witty 
descriptions  of  the  people  she  had  seen.  She  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  cast  off  her  girlish  imperfections 
and  to  have  become  a  woman — a  nobly-planned 
woman,  not  too  bright  or  good, 

"  For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 
Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears  and  smiles." 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast.  329 

How  could  he  have  been  so  careless  of  such  a  treas 
ure  ?  he  now  remorsefully  asked  himself. 

One  morning,  toward  the  end  of  March,  Bessie 
made  an  early  morning  call  upon  Ambrosia.  It  was 
now  a  most  unusual  attention,  and  Ambrosia  re 
ceived  it  from  the  first  with  suspicion  as  to  its  mo 
tive.  Yet  Bessie  came  in  radiant  and  full  of  the 
importance  of  her  position  as  the  giver  of  a  most 
successful  series  of  entertainments. 

"  Clara  sends  you  a  thousand  kisses,  dear.  I  wish 
I  could  give  you  them.  You  do  look  so  charming 
this  morning.  For  whom  is  your  loveliness  adorned  ? 
I  saw  you  last  night  at  the  opera,  and  how  bored  you 
did  look !  And  how  nervous  St.  Ange  was !  His 
glass  was  here  and  there  and  everywhere." 

"  I  was  bored.  And  all  men  are  nervous  unless 
they  are  at  business." 

"  More  nervous  than  women  ?" 

"  A  good  deal." 

"  I  do  not  think  so  at  all,  Amber." 

"  Then  you  have  not  observed.  Put  six  men  and 
six  women  on  chairs  with  chintz  covers.  When  the 
women  rise,  the  covers  will  be  quite  correct;  the 
men  "will  have  fidgeted  theirs  out  of  all  shape  ;  and 
it  will  be  a  miracle  if  they  have  left  a  head-rest  or  a  \ 
lace  tidy  in  its  place.  And  please  to  notice  a  ladyj. 
and  a  gentleman  sitting  at  a  table  covered  with 
knick-knacks — the  lady  will  not  touch  once ;  the 
gentleman  will  lift  a  particular  piece  and  nervously 
finger  it  all  the  time  he  is  talking  to  you.  I  know, 
for  I  have  often  been  in  a  fever  for  the  sake  of  some 
of  my  rareties.  As  for  St.  Ange,  his  vanities 
call  for  the  firmest  self-control ;  and  always  call  in 
vain." 


3 JO  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"Mrs.  Moulton  told  me  she  meets  you  and  St. 
Ange  every  morning,  riding  in  the  Park." 

"  Has  Mrs.  Moulton  '  reserved  '  the  Park  ?  It  is 
her  business  to  make  more  mistakes  than  the  facts 
admit  of." 

"What  are  you  reading,  Amber?  Surely  not 

that  book!  Jack  says  none  of  Z 's  books  are 

proper." 

"  Jack  Madison  is  not  set  in  authority  over  me— 
and  I  have  a  natural  pleasure  in  reading  books  that 
are  not  as  good  as  the  ten  commandments." 

"  But  still  there  are  so  many  good  and  great 
writers." 

"  I  do  not  like  good  and  great  writers.  I  prefer 
mediocre  writers.  They  are  not  obtrusively  thrust 
upon  you.  You  are  not  obliged  to  know  them.  You 
make  their  acquaintance  to  please  yourself." 

"  I  met  Arabella  Minton  as  I  came  here.  One 
may  always  be  sure  of  meeting  her.  She  has  the 
'  key  of  the  streets '  from  ten  in  the  morning  till 
nearly  sunset.  Her  mother  ought  to  restrain  that 
girl  a  little." 

"  She  is  young  and  very  pretty." 

"  And  is  given  her  head." 

"  Just  as  well  so  ;  for  she  will  take  it." 

"  You  meet  her  on  the  Avenue  when  the  clubmen 
flit  to  and  fro,  and  on  Broadway  when  the  mer 
chants  are  returning  from  business.  She  is  always 
looking  for  attention." 

"  And  will  get  plenty  of  it— such  as  it  is.  Did  you 
call  on  me  this  morning  to  discuss  literature  and 
Arabella  Minton  ?" 

"  How  snappy  you  are,  Amber?  I  called  to  have 
a  chat  with  you.  Have  you  heard  that  Anne  Not- 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast.  331 

ting  is  to  be  married  this  spring.     The  affair  was 
all  made  up  at  my  entertainments." 

"  How  proud  you  ought  to  be — I  suppose.  Who 
i«  the  happy  winner  of  Anne  Netting?" 

"  General  Basing." 

"  That  old  man  !" 

"  He  is  only  fifty,  and  so  well  preserved,  and  so 
very  rich." 

"  Well,  if  Anne  likes  a  man  of  fifty  so  well  pre 
served  and  so  very  rich,  it  is  none  of  our  business." 

"  Anne  likes  nothing  and  no  one  very  vehemently . 
General  Basing  is  her  ideal  husband — pleasant  to 
live  with  and  not  very  unpleasant  to  lose  ;  that  is 
what  she  says." 

"  What  would  St.  Paul  say  ?" 

"I  do  not  suppose  St.  Paul  has  anything  to  do 
with  it." 

"  Very  likely  not.  You  do  look  jaded  by  daylight, 
Bessie.  You  are  working  for  the  public  too  hard/' 

"  I  have  so  much  to  do." 

"  We  have  all  enough  to  do — if  we  only  do  it — 
which  we  do  not." 

"  General  Basing  took  us  all  by  surprise.  He  was 
always  prating  about  the  excellencies  of  the  old- 
fashioned  girls,  and  Anne  is — well  Anne  is — rather 
rapid." 

"  The  old-fashioned  girls  do  to  talk  about.  Just 
fancy  the  old-fashioned,  modest,  blushing,  diffident 
damsels  in  our  society  !  Men  would  have  to  respect 
their  ignorance  of  evil,  and  what  bores  and  dowdies 
they  would  consider  them  !" 

"  Men,  now,  like  interesting  women." 

"  Of  course  they  do.  I  dare  say  that  Adam  and 
Eve  were  far  more  interesting  company  after  eating 


332  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

the  forbidden  fruit  than  they  were  before  doing  so. 
But  what  have  you  come  to  tell  me,  Bessie?" 

"  Something  about  St.  Ange." 
,       "I  thought  so,"  said  Ambrosia. 

"  People  are  talking  about  you  and  St.  Ange," 
commented  Bessie. 

"  Is  that  any  of  your  business  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is.  Jack  says  so  too.  He  says  you  are 
my  cousin,  and  he  does  not  like  you  to  be  talked 
about." 

"Jack  is  a  prig." 

*'  Amber,  you  shall  not  talk  in  that  way  of  my 
husband." 

"  Do  be  quiet,  Bessie  !  I  am  saying  nothing  derog 
atory  to  your  husband.  He  is  a  glorious  creature, 
of  course." 

"  He  really  likes  you,  Amber.  We  only  wanted 
to  warn  you." 

•"  Robert  is  the  person  to  warn.     Go  to  Robert." 

"  We  thought  you — " 

"  Always  the  woman !     Well,  what  is  it  ?" 

*'  Amber — I  have  the  best  of  reasons  for  believing 
that  St.  Ange  is — a — married — man  !  And  that  is 
not  all." 

"  I  am  quite  willing  that  St.  Ange  should  be  a 
married  man.  What  possible  difference  can  it  make 
to  me  ?" 

"  Miss  Sadie  Saltar  made  the  discovery." 

*'  Old  maids  usually  do  make  such  discoveries.  I 
simply  do  not  believe  it." 

"  Come  to  my  musicale  to-morrow  night.  It  may 
Ibe  proved  to  your  satisfaction.  Miss  Saltar  knows 
all  about  it." 

"  Clever  Miss  Saltar !" 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast,  333 

"  She  asked  me  to  tell  you — ' 

"  No !  Miss  Saltar  must  come  and  tell  her  own 
tales.  I  will  not  hear  them  from  you." 

"  She  was  shocked  at  what  she  found  out." 

"  Very  likely.  She  is  one  of  those  nasty  people 
whose  ears  are  more  chaste  than  all  the  rest  of  their 
body.  Let  Miss  Saltar  come  to  me  with  her  shock 
ing  tale.  If  she  knows  anything  wrong  of  St.  Ange 
it  is  her  duty  to  tell  either  the  doctor  or  myself." 

"  She  feared  she  might  hurt  your  feelings." 

"  About  St.  Ange  ?" 

"  Yes.     Every  one  thinks  you  are — great  friends." 

"  Every  one  is  a  fool.  I  dislike  St.  Ange.  I  always 
have  hated  him." 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  dear  Amber  !  So 
glad  !  It  makes  me  happy  !  Is  it  not  horrid  weather  ? 
It  really  forces  me  to  use  unguarded  expressions 
about  it." 

"  Is  it  possible  you  can  be  so  imprudent,  Bessie  ? 
The  weather  might  hear  of  it." 

"  Our  new  curate  thinks  that  to  rail  at  the  weather 
is  a  kind  of  railing  at  Providence." 

"  What  an  absurdity  !  How  can  any  one  suppose 
that  an  eternal,  everlasting  God  can  be  busy  in 
arranging  mud  and  rain  and  fog  for  us?" 

"  If  you  put  it  that  way,  it  is  not  likely.  I  must 
hurry  away  now — 

"  Having  delivered  your  burden — '  the  word  that 
was  in  you,'  as  Carlyle  says." 

Then,  with  a  beautiful  kiss-and-be-friends  manner, 
Bessie  embraced  her  cousin.  They  walked  to  the 
door  together,  hand  in  hand,  and  Bessie's  final 
"  word  "  was : 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  be  astonished  at  what  Miss 


334  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Saltar  has  to  tell  you  ;  but  whatever  is  the  result,  we 
must  remember  that  the  wretch  deserves  his  fate." 

"  Possibly,"  laughed  Amber ;  "  and  yet,  as  the  old 
song  says — 

'  Parker — he  was  hanged  for  mutiny  ; 
Worse  nor  he  was  left  behind.' 

We  may  send  St.  Ange  to  Coventry  or  Halifax  or 
New  Orleans,  but  I  have  no  doubt  '  worse  nor  he  ' 
will  be  left  behind." 

"  I  will  tell  Miss  Saltar  you  want  to  see  her.  Do 
not  forget  my  musicale  to-morrow  night." 

"  I  shall  remember  it." 

She  watched  Bessie's  carriage  out  of  sight  and 
then  went  back  to  her  book  or  her  meditations.  She 
had  no  idea  what  sin  St.  Ange  was  guilty  of ;  but 
whether  he  had  committed  robbery  or  forgery  or 
murder  or  matrimony,  she  was  not  sorry  that  he  was 
going  to  be  found  out,  and  she  mused  upon  the  cir 
cumstance  with  that  good  inner  laugh  which  scarcely 
ripples  the  face  but  leaves,  nevertheless,  a  pleasant 
glow  at  the  heart : 

"  Bessie  will  be  so  sweetly  cruel !  Bessie  will  be 
so  beautifully  shocked  !  I  would  not  miss  the  denoue 
ment — no,  not  for  a  new  Worth  dinner-dress." 

The  novel  Bessie  had  thought  so  objectionable 
was  no  longer  necessary  to  Ambrosia.  She  found 
entertainment  in  her  own  thoughts.  Then  there 
was  the  anticipated  visit  to  prepare  for,  Ambrosia 
having  a  very  active  sense  of  the  toilets  dashing  to 
her  own  sex.  But  it  was  quite  late  in  the  afternoon 
when  Miss  Saltar  arrived,  and  Ambrosia  was  tired  of 
expectation  ;  she  had  a  feeling  of  ennui  and  worn-out 
interest,  and  there  was  nothing  in  her  visitor  to 
create  a  fresh  curiosity.  . 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast.  335 

Miss  Adelaide  Saltar  was  one  of  the  weary  women 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  No  other  age  could  have 
produced  her.  She  had  begun  life  at  fifteen,  and 
she  was  now  forty.  She  had  been  everywhere  and 
seen  everything  and  done  everything  and  read 
everything,  and  found  all  vanity.  As  a  last  stimulant 
to  human  feeling,  she  had  taken  to  mission  work  ; 
and  perhaps  come  nearer  to  her  own  kind  by  touch 
ing  it  in  its  forlorn  misery  than  she  had  done  by 
travelling  from  India  to  Peru.  She  was  called 
"  queer,"  and  she  was  queer ;  for  her  life,  though 
rich  in  experiences,  had  been  set  to  no  definite  pur 
pose,  and  was,  therefore,  without  aim  and  without 
harmony.  She  had  very  little  acquaintance  with 
Ambrosia,  and  she  had  no  particular  desire  to  in 
crease  what  she  had.  But  Bessie  had  made  her  feel 
that  Ambrosia  doubted  her  story  ;  and  the  doubt  had 
stimulated  her  desire  to  assert  her  truthfulness, 
though  she  had  no  good  feeling  toward  Ambrosia 
for  requiring  this  act  from  her. 

She  entered  at  once  upon  the  subject,  putting 
brusquely  aside  Ambrosia's  attempts  at  social  plati 
tudes. 

"  I  called,"  she  said,  "  at  the  request  of  Mrs.  Mad 
ison.  She  assures  me  she  found  it  impossible  to 
make  you  believe  anything  wrong  of  Doctor  St. 
Ange." 

"  Is  that  the  way  Bessie  put  the  matter  ?  She  is 
mistaken.  I  preferred  to  hear  the  story  from  you, 
without  Mrs.  Madison's  commentaries  on  it.  That 
is  all." 

"  What  did  she  tell  you  ?" 

"  She  said  only  that  Doctor  St.  Ange  is  a  married 
man.  Is  that  any  sin  ?" 


336  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  Not  primarily ;  but  if  a  married  man  enters 
families  as  an  unmarried  man  and  conducts  himself 
as  such  with  young  girls,  what  then  ?" 

"  He  would  be  a  villain,  of  course.  But  what  can 
you  or  I  know  of  Doctor  St.  Ange's  private  life  ?  It 
is  a  fact  that  some  men  marry  and  some  men  do  not 
marry,  but  do  worse  ;  and  some  men  marry  and  do 
worse,  too  ;  but  they  never  tell  the  truth  about  such 
things,  if  they  do  not  wish  to  tell  it.  I  am  almost 
certain  that  Doctor  St.  Ange  told  Doctor  Carter  he 
was  an  unmarried  man.  But  it  really  makes  no 
difference  to  Doctor  Carter,  and  still  less  to  myself." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Carter,  you  are  accountable  for  his 
intrusion  into  good  society.  He  meets  daily  many 
estimable  young  ladies." 

"  I  am  not  accountable  for  the  estimable  young 
ladies.  If  they  cannot  take  care  of  themselves, 
they  have  parents  or  guardians.  I  could  name  a 
dozen  young  men  about  whose  private  life  no  one 
knows  anything.  They  also  may  be  married." 

"Until  we  know  they  are  guilty— 

"  Guilty  of  marriage  ?" 

"  Put  it  so  if  you  like.  I  am  innocent.  Until  we 
know  that  they  are  guilty  of  being  married  men 
masquerading  as  lovers  of  young  girls  and  married 
women,  we  may  suppose  them  innocent." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  Doctor  St.  Ange  is  a  mar 
ried  man?" 

"  I  will  give  you  my  reasons,  and  then  I  have  done 
my  duty.  You  can  do  yours  or  not,  as  you  prefer. 
Mrs.  Jack  Madison  thinks  the  reasons  good  and 
sufficient  ones." 

"  And  Mrs.  Jack  Madison  will  do  her  duty  and 
every  other  person's  duty  also,  I  have  no  doubt." 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast.  337 

Miss  Saltar  waved  her  hand  and  said,  with  an  air 
of  studied  weariness : 

"  There  is  a  little  girl  in  whom  I  take  an  interest. 
She  is  very  poor,  and  she  is  sick  with  consumption. 
Once  or  twice  a  week  I  go  to  see  her.  Last  Thurs 
day  she  sent  me  word  they  had  moved  to  a  house  in 
Second  Street,  and  to  this  house  I  went.  As  I  sat 
talking  to  her,  a  child  in  the  next  room  cried.  She 
seemed  fretted  by  the  crying,  and  finally  said  she 
must  rise  to  go  for  the  child.  She  had  promised  the 
mother  to  do  so.  I  went  in  her  place.  As  I  lifted 
the  squalling  little  morsel,  I  saw  on  the  chimney- 
piece  a  large  photo  of  Doctor  St.  Ange.  I  lifted  it 
also,  and  on  the  back  was  written  : 

"'To  my  dear  Leanore,  from  her  devoted  husband,  Achilla 
St.  Ange.' 

Is  that  a  satisfactory  proof  of  his  marriage  ?" 

"  I  think  it  is  a  suspicious  circumstance  tending 
that  way." 

"  I  asked  the  girl  who  lived  in  the  room.  She 
answered  a  doctor  and  his  family.  She  said  also  the 
father  was  employed  by  a  famous  physician,  who 
paid  him  a  mere  pittance  and  stole  all  his  ideas. 
Further,  that  he  seldom  got  time  to  see  his  family 
and  that  his  wife  was  obliged  to  dress  ladies'  hair  in 
the  day  and  also  to  go  to  entertainments  at  night 
and  sing  Spanish  songs  to  her  mandolin.  I  asked  if 
the  couple  were  happy,  and  was  told  they  had  fierce 
quarrels  and  that  the  elegant  Doctor  St.  Ange  fre 
quently  struck  his  wife  with  those  long,  white  hands 
he  is  so  fond  of  displaying— also,  that  he  is  cruel  to 
the  children." 
"  Did  you  see  the  mother?" 


338  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  She  had  gone  to  Mrs.  Van  Tassel's  to  dress  hair, 
my  little  protdgte  thought ;  she  went  there  every 
day.  The  eldest  two  children  were  playing  in  a 
silent  way  with  some  pictured  blocks,  on  the  floor  of 
an  inner  room.  I  know  well  that  many  people  will 
say ;  '  It  just  took  an  old  maid  to  find  out  such  a 
scandal.'  I  did  not  find  it  out ;  it  found  me  out,  as 
you  must  acknowledge.  I  have  told  you  the  truth  ; 
you  can  do  as  you  like  in  the  affair.  It  is  off  my 
mind,  and  I  am  glad ;  for  a  duty  on  my  mind  is  a 
great  burden." 

"  I  should  think  that  little  girl  dying  of  consump 
tion  would  be  a  duty  on  your  mind." 

"  It  is  ;  but  I  do  all  I  can  for  her." 

"  I  think  not.  If  I  were  you,  I  should  send  her  to 
a  warm  climate  and  give  her  a  chance  for  her  life. 
You  are  rich.  Her  life  is  perhaps  in  your  hands. 
You  have  been  telling  me  my  duty.  I  am  only  re 
ciprocating." 

"  Are  you  trying  to  be  unpleasant,  dear  Mrs. 
Carter  ?  It  is  not  worth  while  as  far  as  I  am  con 
cerned." 

"  No.     But  duty  is  always  unpleasant,  I  think." 

"  So  many  things  in  life  are  unpleasant !  Suppose 
you  forget  that  I  was  the  bringer  of  evil  news. 
Really,  I  did  not  want  to  annoy  you.  I  simply 
thought  you  ought  to  know." 

"  Of  course,  Doctor  Carter  ought  to  know — if  he 
does  not  know  already,  which  I  think  likely.  What 
disagreeable  weather  we  are  having  !  I  heard  you 
were  going  to  Point  Comfort.  How  nice  it  would  be 
to  take  that  little  sick  girl  with  you  !" 

Then  Ambrosia  was  alone  with  the  news  she  had 
received.  She  stood  by  the  fire,  making  a  picture  in 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast.  339 

her  mind  of  the  shabby  rooms,  the  lonely  children 
playing  silently  in  them,  the  fretful  baby,  the  mother 
dressing  hair  and  playing  the  mandolin,  and  the 
father  dawdling  about  fashionable  drawing-rooms, 
making  eyes  and  whispering  sweet  speeches  to  un 
suspecting  girls. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  passionate  whisper — "yes, 
even  daring  to  press  my  hand  !  He  did,  last  night ! 
I  wonder  I  did  not  strike  him  with  the  same  hand  !" 

Her  face  was  aflame  with  anger,  and  her  foot  was 
tapping  the  fender  to  the  rapid  beat  of  her  heart. 

Robert  found  her  in  this  attitude,  but  she  turned 
her  face  to  him  with  a  radiant  smile. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come  home  !"  she  said.  "  I 
have  heard  some  news.  Bessie  sent  Miss  Saltar 
here  to  tell  me  St.  Ange  is  a  married  man." 

"  She  is  mistaken.  He  told  me  he  was  unmarried. 
Bessie  and  Miss  Saltar !  I  would  not  care  much 
about  anything  they  arranged." 

'"Arranged?"' 

"  What  have  we  to  do  with  St.  Ange's  private  life  ? 
What  have  we  to  do  with  any  one's  private  life  ?  I 
do  not  believe  a  word  you  have  heard,  my  dear." 

"  Bessie  said  something  about '  proving  it '  at  her 
musical?  to-night.  Will  you  go  with  me  ?" 

"  If  Bessie  is  bent  upon  offering  us  sensation,  I 
am  not  taking  any,  thank  you.  I  do  not  like  St. 
Ange ;  but  I  would  not  care  to  see  any  man  under 
Bessie's  inquisition.  I  will  come  for  you  near  twelve 
o'clock.  I  suppose  Will  and  Louisa  will  be  there  ?" 

"Will  is  to  play  a  certain  bravura,  and  Louisa 
sings  it.  Now,  will  you  go  with  n.-»?" 

"No.  I  dislike  amateur  singing  pnd  playing. 
And  you  will  have  had  enough  before  mi  J  night." 


340  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

The  first  person  Ambrosia  saw  in  Bessie's  drawing- 
room  was  St.  Ange.  He  was,  indeed,  remarkably  in 
evidence  that  night,  and  Bessie  seemed  to  encourage 
all  his  darings  and  pretensions.  The  evening  went 
pleasantly  away,  and  about  eleven  o'clock  the  rooms 
were  crowded.  Then  Mrs.  Jack  Madison  announced 
"  Madame  Leanore,"  and  the  lady  stepped  from  be 
hind  a  curtain  with  her  mandolin  in  her  hand.  Am 
brosia  and  Miss  Saltar  were  looking  steadily  at  St. 
Ange.  He  was  fastening  in  his  coat  a  flower  which 
a  pretty  girl  had  just  given  him.  When  the  flower 
was  safe,  he  looked  up,  and  the  next  moment,  with 
a  face  of  crimson  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  he  was  hur 
rying  through  the  press  toward  the  door.  Bessie 
intercepted  him — Bessie,  with  Ambrosia  at  her  side. 

"  Oh,  doctor  !"  cried  Mrs.  Jack  Madison.  "  Doctor, 
you  must,  you  really  must  come  to  help  Madame 
Leanore  !  You  are  the  only  person  present  who  can 
sing  Spanish !" 

"  I  cannot  sing  to-night,  madam.  It  is  impos 
sible  !" 

"  Can  I  not  persuade  you  ?  Then  madame  must 
entreat  for  herself.  Shall  I  call  madame  ?  You  surely 
cannot  refuse  her  ?  It  would  be  impossible  !  Is  she 
not  lovety  ?  That  is,  she  would  be  if  dressed  becom 
ingly.  Poor  soul !  I  hear  she  has  a  sad  story.  Oh, 
you  wicked  men  !  You  are  so  bad  !" 

All  the  time  thus  talking,  she  was  gradually  lead 
ing  St.  Ange  toward  his  wife.  With  her  usual 
charming  frankness,  she  had  put  her  hand  through 
his  arm,  and  without  absolute  rudeness  he  could  not 
free  himself.  His  mind  took  in  the  position  with 
the  rapidity  of  lightning,  and  he  resolved  to  face 
boldly  what  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  escape. 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast.  341 

But  the  hum  of  conversation  beat  like  a  hundred 
drums  on  his  ear,  and  the  handsome,  splendidly 
dressed  crowd  pressed  around  him  like  an  impla 
cable  fate.  As  he  drew  near  to  Leanore,  their  eyes 
met,  and  hers  received  such  an  instant  and  impera 
tive  command  that  she  was  able  to  break  in  two  the 
cry  that  sprang  from  her  lips.  Bessie  busied  herself 
about  the  copy  of  the  song.  Ambrosia  kept  her 
bright  eyes  fixed  upon  the  traitorous  husband.  He 
spoke  in  a  whisper  to  Leanore,  and  she  paled  as  if 
death  had  spoken  to  her.  Then  he  struck  a  few 
notes,  and  several  besides  Leanore  saw  the  devil  in 
his  eyes.  The  poor  woman  sang  the  first  verse  with 
a  marvelous  power  and  sweetness,  then  she  threw 
upward  her  hands,  her  voice  faltered,  it  sobbed,  she 
sat  down,  she  would  have  fallen  forward  if  Ambrosia 
had  not  supported  her. 

Bessie  uttered  a  sympathetic  little  cry,  and  several 
ladies  ejaculated  :  "  She  is  fainting  !"  There  was  a 
sudden  hush  and  lull,  and  Mr.  Madison  and  Jack 
assisted  her  from  the  room.  As  they  did  so,  St. 
Ange  rose,  and  Ambrosia's  eyes,  blazing  with  scorn, 
met  his. 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  to  your  wife  ?"  she  asked. 

It  was  a  hard  question,  and  she  paid  the  price  of 
her  indiscretion,  for  he  answered  promptly,  in  a 
voice  meant  to  be  heard  : 

"Dearest,  I  will  explain  all  this  to  you  later." 
Then,  in  a  whisper :  "  It  is  your  doing,  and  you 
shall  pay  for  it !" 

Several  heard  the  word  "  dearest  "  applied  to  her, 
and  many  more  saw  the  whisper.  Ambrosia  was 
confounded,  indignant,  dazed  with  angry  amaze 
ment,  but  what  explanation  could  she  make  ?  Her 


34 2  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

first   thought  was    Bessie.     She  found   her   in   the 
cloak-room  with  Leanore. 

"  What  outrage  is  this  thing  you  have  done,  Bessie 
Madison  ?"  she  asked.  "  It  is  simply  infamous  !" 

"  That  is  what  I  say  !"  cried  the  poor  wife,  rising 
to  her  feet  and  conquering  herself  by  the  force  of 
her  passion.  "  It  is  an  infamy  to  make  of  my  sor 
rows  a  sensation  for  herself.  Lady,  if  you  have 
here  a  carriage,  send  me  to  my  home.  I  must  go 
very  quick.  My  poor  Achille,  in  his  temper,  will 
know  not  the  little  children.  They  will  suffer.  For 
the  Holy  Mother's  sake,  send  me  to  them  !" 

Ambrosia  turned  to  Jack. 

"  Get  my  carriage — get  my  carriage  for  this  lad/ 
at  once.  She  has  been  cruelly  treated." 

As  she  spoke,  Clara  came  hastily  into  the  room, 
and  Ambrosia  told  her  the  whole  circumstance,  not 
even  hesitating  over  St.  Ange's  false  accusation  of 
herself.  Bessie  would  take  no  blame  on  the  latter 
count.  She  said  she  did  not  suppose  there  was  any 
cause  to  conciliate  St.  Ange,  and  that,  if  Amber 
knew  of  any,  she  ought  not  to  have  run  the  risk  of 
unpleasant  truths ;  but  she  must  go  to  her  com 
pany  ;  she  had  no  time  for  people  with  private 
stories. 

"You  must  take  Amber  with  you,"  said  Clara, 
positively.  "  Whatever  position  you  have  been  the 
cause  of  putting  Amber  in,  you  must  share  it.  I 
insist  upon  it,  Bessie." 

"  Amber  can  come,  if  she  likes." 

"  Amber,  dear,  you  must  go  with  Bessie,"  pleaded 
Clara.  "  You  cannot  notice  St.  Ange's  words.  Every 
one  knows  they  were  the  outcome  of  venomous 
spite.  Go,  dear !  I  will  send  Will  to  you." 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast.  343 

Will  had  taken  the  vacated  piano,  and  Louisa  was 
singing.  Amber  went  to  Miss  Saltar's  side.  Bessie 
had  an  air  of  injured  innocence,  and  many  people 
pitied  her  for  the  annoyance  her  cousin,  Mrs.  Carter, 
had  caused  her. 

"  Such  a  sensitive  little  thing !"  they  whispered. 
"  So  particularly  proper  !  How  it  has  wounded  her  ! 
And  yet  how  gently  she  speaks  to  her  cousin  !  Is 
she  not  lovely?" 

Very  soon  Will  was  at  liberty,  and  Amber  told 
both  him  and  Louisa  the  shameful  wrong  St.  Ange 
had  done  her.  Louisa  sympathized,  and  yet  Am 
brosia  could  feel  a  shadow  of  drawback  in  her  sym 
pathy.  Will  took  her  on  his  arm,  walked  through 
the  parlors  with  her  and  remained  by  her  side.  But 
Ambrosia  could  see  the  questioning,  uneasy  look 
with  which  Louisa  followed  Will  and  herself.  Oh, 
how  she  longed  for  her  own  husband  !  And  when 
she  saw  Robert  smiling  at  her  from  the  door,  she 
could  scarcely  restrain  the  cry  of  joy  which  sprang 
from  her  heart. 

Once  with  him  in  the  carriage,  she  laid  her  head 
upon  his  breast  and  wept  with  an  anguish  Robert 
felt  was  this  time  only  too  genuine.  He  did  not 
question  her  until  they  were  at  home.  Then  she 
told  him  all ;  and  Robert  listened  gravely,  silently, 
with  that  inward  passion,  which  reveals  itself  with 
out  words.  He  did  not  reproach  Ambrosia.  He  felt 
that  her  imprudence  had  been  punished  cruelly 
enough.  He  believed  her  fully,  when  she  declared 
she  had  done  nothing,  said  nothing,  looked  nothing, 
to  merit  such  words.  He  had  only  a  passing  thought 
of  the  many  women  in  the  room  who  had  done,  said 
and  looked,  and  who  had  yet  escaped  all  condemna- 


344  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

tion ;  and  the  injustice  of  circumstances  made  him 
sigh. 

As  for  St.  Ange,  he  felt  for  him  a  contempt  which 
scarcely  required  hatred  to  increase  it.  He  talked 
the  night  away  with  Ambrosia,  soothing  her,  reason 
ing  with  her,  advising  her.  But  he  longed  for  the 
morning.  He  wanted  to  kick  the  wretch  out  of  his 
life.  He  was  angry  at  Will  for  bringing  him  into 
it ;  angry  at  himself  for  enduring  the  man  so  long. 
How  many  quarrels  he  had  caused !  How  much 
suffering  and  heartache  had  had  their  rise  in  his 
hateful  presence  !  He  felt  his  own  wrongs  bitterly 
also ;  for  he  had  really  been  generous  to  the  crea 
ture,  and  yet  he  was  accused  of  giving  him  only  a 
pittance — and  of  stealing  his  ideas  !  Miss  Saltar  had 
said  the  words  to  Ambrosia,  and  she  would  not  hes 
itate  to  say  them  to  others. 

All  night  he  kept  a  sorrowful  session  with  Am 
brosia,  and  when  at  length  she  fell  asleep  with 
exhaustion,  he  was  more  alive  than  ever  he  remem 
bered  being  before.  Sleep  was  his  last  thought  and 
last  necessity.  He  was  in  a  fever  of  insulted  man 
hood.  He  radiated  anger  from  every  point.  His 
eyes  were  on  fire,  his  hands  twitching.  His  con 
trolled  passion  dominated  every  other  desire.  He 
wanted  no  food,  no  papers  or  letters.  He  wanted 
nothing  but  the  hour  which  would  bring  the  meas 
ureless  villain  to  his  presence. 

St.  Ange  entered  the  office  insolently  and  ready 
for  the  fray.  Robert  said  only : 

"  The  time  has  come  for  us  to  part.  There  is  the 
money  I  owe  you." 

"  It  is  far  too  little.  You  have  always  underpaid  me, 
and  you  have  stolen  my  ideas  quite  long  enough." 


The   Viper  in  the  Breast.  345 

The  wickedness  of  the  two  charges  almost  strangled 
Robert,  though  he  was  somewhat  prepared  for  them. 
But  he  did  not  design  to  answer  them.  He  turned 
to  his  desk  and  began  to  write.  St.  Ange  had  now 
his  opportunity,  and  whatever  his  wicked  heart 
could  devise,  his  wicked  tongue  uttered.  And  Rob 
ert  felt  that  he  could  have  nothing  to  say  to  such 
abuse  ;  could  not  enter  into  controversy  with  so  vile 
a  foe  about  the  honor  of  his  wife  and  the  integrity 
of  himself.  Under  the  circumstances,  defense  would 
have  been  excuse  ;  and  excuse  would  have  been  self- 
accusation.  But  his  position  was  a  moral  pillory,  in 
which  he  took  lash  after  lash  with  apparent  indiffer 
ence  ;  because  he  knew  right  well  that  retaliation 
would  be  unspeakable  degradation. 

But  oh,  how  he  suffered  !  The  almost  miraculous 
strain  under  which  he  took  his  punishment  was  a 
year's  aging,  and  all  the  time  his  body  winced  and 
trembled,  his  conscience  reminded  him  that  it  was 
"  his  own  fault."  Even  after  his  tormentor  had  gone 
away,  he  sat  for  two  hours  thinking — and  thinking, 
without  definite  idea  either  about  the  past  or  the 
future.  He  appeared  to  te  writing,  but  he  did  not 
make  a  letter.  In  a  troubled,  turbid  way  he  was 
feeling  all  the  wicked  and  cruel  positions  St.  Ange 
could  put  Ambrosia  and  himself  into — feeling  sav 
agely  his  own  blindness  and  indifference — '.rying  to 
calculate  the  advantages  he  had  permitted  this 
stranger  to  take  not  only  in  his  domestic  concerns 
but  in  his  business.  He  knew  that  both  alike  were 
at  the  mercy  of  a  scoundrel's  scornful  word  and 
smile. 

For  some  hours  he  endured  such  self-reproach 
and  remorse  as  spirits  who  have  outlived  their 


346  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

opportunities  may  feel ;  and  in  the  whole  affair  he 
could  find  for  himself  no  comfort  but  the  fact  that 
he  had  at  least  preserved  his  self-respect  and  kept 
his  temper  under  an  outrageous  temptation  to 
degrade  his  repentance  by  words  or  acts  which 
would  bring  him  down  to  the  level  of  his  foe. 

"  I  answered  him  never  a  word,  Amber,"  he  said, 
when  his  wife  questioned  him.  "  That  is  a  little 
comfort  to  me  ;  but,  oh,  I  could  take  a  year  to  curse 
him  and  then  not  be  satisfied." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"CLEAR   SHINING  AFTER   RAIN." 

And  love,  our  light  at  night  and  shade  at  noon, 
Lulls  us  to  rest  with  songs  and  turns  away 
All  shafts  of  shelterless,  tumultuous  day. — Rossetti. 

The  time  of  smiles  came  round  once  more. — Wells. 

During  the  first  day  of  acute  humiliation  Am 
brosia  had  received  a  little  comfort  from  the  prac 
tical  sympathy  of  Clara.  She  called  very  early  in 
the  morning  and  offered  to  come  at  once  to  Doctor 
Carter's  house.  But  Ambrosia  felt  that  this  would 
be  a  false  step. 

"I  ha\e  done  nothing,  Clara,"  she  said,  "that 
calls  for  the  support  of  your  presence.  If  you  made 
this  change,  every  one  would  say  I  anticipated  neg 
lect  or  scorn.  I  am  sure  it  is  best  for  Robert  and 
myself  to  be  sufficient  for  each  other." 

"  Then  I  shall  go  to  May  berry.  Bessie  has  been 
too  absolute  for  some  time.  I  will  not  any  longer 
appear  to  sanction  the  crude  cruelties  and  insolence 
of  her  youth  and  inexperience.  When  she  is  older, 
she  will  likely  be  sweeter ;  now  she  has  all  the  acrid 
offenses  of  her  years." 

"  Are  the  young  necessarily  cruel?" 

[347] 


348  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"  There  are  beautiful  exceptions  to  the  general 
rule ;  yet,  young  girls  are  generally  without  pity. 
There  is  no  question  about  it.  Their  want  of  ex 
perience  makes  them  hard  to  sorrows  they  cannot 
understand.  They  say  the  most  scornful  things  to 
their  friends ;  they  even  hurt  and  humiliate  their 
own  mothers.  They  are  assertive  and  aggressive, 
because  their  instinctive  selfishness  prompts  them 
to  taking  all  and  giving  nothing.  A  young  girl  is  a 
cruel  creature,  Ambrosia,  but  a  young  matron  is  fre 
quently  much  worse.  Bessie's  conduct  last  night 
was  a  piece  of  brutality,  and  I  have  told  her  so. 
What  right  had  she  and  Miss  Saltar  to  put  St.  Ange 
in  such  a  position  ?  It  was  an  interference  with  Doc 
tor  Carter's  household  and  business  that  was  unwar 
rantable.  I  do  not  say  that  she  contemplated  St. 
Ange's  insult  to  you ;  she  thought  of  nothing  but 
the  little  ripple  of  interest  it  would  give  to  her  party. 
People  who  talked  of  it  would  naturally  talk  of  her. 
That  was  as  far  as  her  reasoning  went.  How  much 
St.  Ange's  wife  would  suffer  at  the  time  from  shock 
or  afterward  from  anger,  she  declined  to  take  into 
consideration.  And  yet,  had  any  one  so  interfered 
in  her  affairs,  she  would  have  babbled  about  it  as  an 
inconceivable  outrage." 

"  I  am  sure  Uncle  Madison  was  angry  at  her  last 
night." 

"  He  is  very  angry,  indeed.  Jack,  poor  fellow, 
thinks  and  speaks  as  directed.  Come  to  Mayberry 
with  me,  for  a  few  days." 

"  No,  dear.  I  will  not  run  away  from  a  mouthful 
of  bad  words.  Words  will  not  slay  me.  And  Robert 
has  been  so  kind  and  just  in  the  matter.  Perhaps 
this  very  trouble  may  draw  us  close  together  again. 


"Clear  Shining  After  Rain"          349 

If  so,  1  will  thank  God  for  it.  At  any  rate,  I  will 
take  what  opportunities  it  offers." 

"  That  is  right.  Bessie  and  Jack,  Will  and  Louisa 
are  talking  of  Europe  this  summer.  They  will  make 
a  party  of  their  own.  Bessie  may  find  some  changes 
when  she  comes  back.  She  had  been  so  tyrannical 
in  her  home,  that  her  father  is  beginning  to  rebel 
against  her." 

"  Clara,  you  do  not  believe  anything  wrong  of  me, 
do  you  ?" 

"  I  believe  in  your  innocence  to  the  uttermost.  I 
am  sorry  that  for  any  cause  you  showed  St.  Ange 
more  attention  lately.  I  must  tell  you  that  some  ac 
cuse  you  of  flirting  with  him." 

"  Who  of  our  set  has  not  flirted  with  him  ?  And  if 
I  did  so,  it  was  for  the  purpose  of  quickening  Rob 
ert's  love." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  a  bad  road  never  leads  to  a  good 
place ;  and  in  flirting,  you  cannot  go  on  with  what 
you  never  begin.  There  ought  to  be  no  suspicion 
about  a  wife's  conduct." 

"  You  are  so  old-fashioned,  Clara." 

"  My  dear,  purity  and  honor  are  never  old-fash 
ioned.  When  they  are  so,  good  men  and  women 
may  break  their  hearts  and  go  out  of  the  world." 

Louisa  and  Will  followed  Clara  ;  and  Will's  anger 
at  Bessie  and  Louisa's  womanly  criticisms  of  her 
conduct  were  a  little  consolation. 

"  Bessie  has  such  a  high  opinion  of  herself,"  said 
Louisa,  "and  the  world  has  caught  this  opinion 
from  her.  But  I  wish  she  had  fewer  virtues  and 
more  amiability.  I  will  tell  you  something  about 
Bessie.  After  her  last  ball,  I  found  her  writing  a 
description  of  it  for  the  Home  Journal,  and  she  had 


35°  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

incidentally    remarked    that    she    '  looked   lovely.' 
Think  of  such  courage  !" 

Ambrosia  smiled ;  and  Will  put  his  thumb  in  his 
vest  and  strutted  out  with  an  affectation  of  weari 
ness  : 

"  Oh,  for  an  age  so  sheltered  from  annoy 
That  I  may  never  know  how  change  the  moons 
Or  hear  the  voice  of  women's  defamation  !" 

It  struck  Ambrosia,  however,  that  Will  and 
Louisa  treated  the  affair  with  too  little  interest. 
Yet  it  was  a  difficult  visit  to  pay,  and  very  likely 
they  felt  relieved  when  it  was  over.  Then  the  day 
went  wearily  on  until  Robert's  return  home.  And 
he  was  silent  with  wrath  and  not  inclined  to  talk 
before  dinner  had  lubricated  his  feelings.  Then  it 
was  different.  He  told  Ambrosia  all  he  had  longed 
to  say  to  St.  Ange,  and  found  solid  comfort  in  this 
explanation  of  himself.  Still  there  was  an  unhappy, 
restless  atmosphere  in  the  house  and  a  weight  on 
each  bosom  that  sympathy  did  not  lighten. 

On  the  third  morning  the  premonitory  unhappi- 
ness  was  explained.  The  doctor  found  in  his  morn 
ing  paper  a  letter  from  St.  Ange,  claiming  the 
discoveries  already  linked  with  Doctor  Carter's 
name,  and  boldly  accusing  the  doctor  of  taking 
advantage  of  his  poverty  to  appropriate  experi 
ments  he  was  himself  incapable  of  making.  For 
this  end,  he  averred,  he  had  been  poorly  paid  and 
kept  in  poverty ;  every  advantage  having  been 
taken  of  his  being  a  stranger  without  friends  and 
without  knowledge  of  the  peculiarities  of  Northern 
life  and  practice. 

It  was  a  cruel  accusation,  and  so  cleverly  based  on 
its  foundation  of  truth  that  Robert  saw  at  once  how 


'Clear  Shining  After  Rain."  351 

difficult  it  would  be  to  answer  it.  Besides,  the  world 
has  no  time  to  make  judgments.  It  takes  assertions 
and  believes  them  until  more  plausible  assertions 
are  made.  And  it  was  a  truth  that  he  had  dismissed 
St.  Ange  just  when  their  long  experiments  were  be 
ing  brought  to  a  successful  close.  For  it  is  a  general 
fact  that  an  unfortunate  thing  is  almost  always 
forced  to  be  done  at  an  unfortunate  time.  It  had 
been  so  in  this  case.  But  how  could  he  explain  cir 
cumstances  resting  upon  an  insult  offered  to  his 
wife  ?  Or  how  bring  forward  the  part  which  Bessie 
Madison  and  Adelaide  Saltar  had  played  in  the 
wretched  denouement  ? 

He  wrote  answer  after  answer,  and  each  one 
seemed  tamer  and  more  improbable  than  the  other. 
He  had  really  intended  to  give  St.  Ange  all  the 
credit  he  deserved.  But  who  would  not  believe  this  ? 
It  was  easy  to  authenticate  his  generosity  to  the  man 
in  money  matters.  But  how  many  would  take  the 
trouble  to  satisfy  themselves  of  the  fact  ?  He  was 
actually  in  a  position  where  even  Truth  might  shrink 
from  explanations  and  find  it  almost  impossible  to 
clear  herself.  And  then  came  the  interviewers,  and 
all  alike  perceived  that  Doctor  Carter  did  not  tell  the 
whole  truth.  Besides  which,  he  lacked  the  suavity 
of  St.  Ange — the  familiarities,  the  plausible  affecta 
tions  of  wounded  confidence,  the  scarcely  restrained 
tears  over  his  late  employer's  faithlessness. 

Ambrosia  did  not  appear  in  these  interviews  with 
the  press  magnates ;  but  St.  Ange's  wife  seconded 
ably  her  husband's  accusations.  She  had  no  com 
punctions  or  reservations  about  a  class  of  women 
from  whom  she  had  received  nothing  but  insulting 
condescensions.  She  did  not  hesitate  to  blame  Mrs. 


352  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

Carter,  to  insinuate,  nay,  to  assert  those  imputations 
which  sprang  naturally  from  St.  Ange's  wounded 
vanity  and  wicked  heart.  For  at  that  time  St.  Ange 
was  playing  the  devoted  husband  and  father,  and 
Leanore  would  have  cheerfully  sworn  to  anything 
he  chose  to  assert. 

So  it  mattered  little  that  Doctor  Carter  crippled 
his  own  defense  rather  than  to  allude  to  his  wife. 
His  very  reticence  was  a  kind  of  confirmation  of 
Madame  St.  Ange's  assertions,  and  thus  a  guarded 
but  still  sufficiently  clear  association  of  Ambrosia  in 
the  quarrel  was  consequent.  "  A  woman  in  it,  of 
course,"  said  the  readers  ;  "  there  is  always  a  woman 
somewhere  !"  And  then  they  recalled  Doctor  Car 
ter's  beautiful  wife ;  how  much  younger  she  was 
than  her  husband,  how  gay  and  fashionable  and  how 
intimate  the  fascinating  young  St.  Ange  had  been 
with  the  family.  Every  one  had  his  own  verdict, 
based  upon  his  individual  likes  or  dislikes,  and  there 
really  appeared  to  be  no  use  in  resisting  this  tide  of 
opinions. 

For  a  little  time  Ambrosia  let  it  beat  her  on  every 
side.  She  refused  to  keep  the  shelter  of  her  home  ; 
she  would  not  permit  the  slightest  unusual  public 
attention  from  her  husband.  She  told  Robert  it 
would  be  a  few  days'  talk  only  ;  that  as  soon  as  the 
newspapers  let  the  affair  alone,  every  one  else  would 
do  the  same.  In  some  respects  she  was  right.  A 
few  days'  discussion  of  St.  Ange's  wrongs  made 
them  a  phantom,  a  thing  of  pestilent  vapor  to  the 
press,  and  the  makers  of  news  blew  it  out  of  their 
road  and  passed  on  to  newer  events.  But  society, 
that  is  born  of  men  and  women  full  of  suspicions 
and  supersensitive  respectability,  was  more  implac- 


"Clear  Shining  After  Rain"          353 

able.  Without  absolutely  cutting  Ambrosia,  it  made 
her  feel  that  she  was  something  of  an  intrusion.  It 
had  its  Easter  festivities  to  contemplate,  and  could 
not  have  its  tranquil  sense  of  propriety  invaded  by 
people  who  had  even  been  touched  by  a  doubtful 
assertion. 

Every  day  Ambrosia  received  some  reminder  that 
she  had  been  accused.  Her  guilt  or  innocence 
made  no  difference ;  she  had  no  business  to  be 
accused.  Other  sinneresses  were  more  careful  of 
their  ways.  No  one  really  believed  anything  wrong 
of  Mrs.  Carter,  but  nearly  every  one  had  some  per 
sonal  slight  or  dislike  to  pay  off.  And  how  perfectly 
women  pay  such  debts  when  they  get  their  oppor 
tunity  !  Satan  himself  must  look  on  with  admira 
tion.  In  such  circumstances,  it  is  almost  impossible 
for  lukewarm  friends  or  mere  acquaintances  to  avoid 
giving  their  contribution  to  the  clearing-off.  They 
may  make  faint  suggestions  of  probable  mistakes  or 
faint  reminders  of  the  culprit's  known  good  quali 
ties,  but  all  demurrers  of  this  kind  are  smiled  away 
into  contemptuous  oblivion.  So  at  this  time  Am 
brosia  had  few  friends  ;  for  if  it  be  an  almost  impos 
sible  task  to  argue  for  a  dog  assailed  by  slander, 
how  much  more  impossible  to  defend  a  woman  in 
the  same  calamity ! 

Doctor  Carter  had  his  own  full  share  of  the  public 
disapproval.  The  controversy,  pushed  out  of  the 
daily  press,  was  renewed  by  St.  Ange  in  the  medical 
papers,  and  thus  every  week  brought  a  fresh  accu 
sation  and  demanded  a  fresh  rebuttal.  He  could  not 
rid  himself  of  the  incubus.  In  addition,  there  was 
a  more  than  wordy  attack  upon  him  professionally. 
St.  Ange  had  secured  the  sympathy  of  some  of  Doc- 


354  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

tor  Carter's  patients,  and  had  begun  business  on  the 
promise  of  their  support.  His  office  was  not  far  from 
Doctor  Carter's  office,  and  though  he  cared  little  for 
the  financial  loss,  the  name  in  the  window  made  his 
eyes  flash  and  his  heart  burn  whenever  he  passed  it. 
And  a  professional  fraternity  has  all  the  small- 
nesses  of  a  feminine  set.  The  members  of  it  made 
cutting  jokes  and  said  ill-natured  things  in  a  smiling 
way,  and  the  familiarity  of  the  offenders  took  away 
none  of  the  intended  sting.  In  their  essence  they 
were  just  as  cruel  as  the  vacant  stares  and  polite 
cuts,  the  courteous  chilliness  or  scornful  recognitions 
of  Ambrosia's  friends  and  acquaintances. 

Week  after  week  St.  Ange  appeared  to  be  steadily 
wasting  away  Doctor  Carter's  reputation  and  busi 
ness.  *For  it  is  one  of  the  most  obvious  character 
istics  of  evil  that  at  first  it  has  the  semblance  of 
success.  David  fretted  over  "  the  man  who  brought 
wicked  devices  to  pass  "  centuries  ago  ;  and  in  most 
lives  of  to-day  there  is  a  time  when  the  wronged 
open  the  blessed  book  at  the  thirty-seventh  psalm, 
and  let  their  tears  downfall  on  its  earlier  verses,  and 
lift  up  their  souls  with  gladness  and  confidence  on 
its  closing  promises.  Robert  had  not  found  out  this 
old  consolation.  He  had  only  Ambrosia,  and  some 
times  she  failed. 

One  morning  Ambrosia  went  to  bid  Will  and 
Louisa  good-bye.  They  were  going  to  England  ; 
and  after  all,  Bessie  and  Jack  were  going  with  them. 
Louisa  said  she  hated  not  to  be  friends  with  her 
relatives.  Bessie  had  said  she  was  "  so  sorry,  and 
it  was  not  right  to  be  unforgiving.  Besides,  if  they 
went  to  Ambleside  and  Grasmere  without  Bessie,  it 
would  not  be  at  all  like  old  times.  Louisa  had  said 


"Clear  Shining  Aftd  Rain"          355 

these  things  frequently  to  Will,  and  she  had  also 
added,  with  a  sigh  : 

"  Amber  is  just  a  little  imprudent,  Will,  and  I  do 
think  the  lesson  will  be  good  for  her.  Married  people 
ought  to  be  sufficient  for  each  other.  We  are,  Will!" 

And  how  could  Will  resist  such  reasonable  argu 
ments  ? 

So  Will  took  his  tone  from  Louisa ;  and  when  Am 
brosia  called,  she  felt  this.  At  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  Louisa  had  put  that  faint  disapproval,  and  it 
chilled  all  they  said.  Ambrosia  could  not  tell  how 
they  hurt  her,  how  they  disappointed  her,  how  it 
was  she  was  made  to  feel  like  a  chidden  child  on 
probation.  They  were  both  affectionate  in  manner. 
Why  did  she  resent  the  manner  ?  They  both  gave 
her  the  kindest  hopes  in  the  most  unexceptionable 
words.  Why,  then,  did  she  feel  like  flinging  the 
words  back  from  her  ?  She  left  their  presence  with 
a  sense  of  injury  and  indignation,  and  .her  heart 
swelled,  and  she  felt  as  if  it  would  break. 

As  her  carriage  passed  down  a  street  near  her  old 
home,  a  little  church  set  back  in  a  corner  struck  her 
with  a  feeling  of  familiarity,  and  a  strong  desire 
arose  in  her  to  enter  it.  There  was  no  reason  to 
deny  the  wish,  and  she  alighted  and  passed  within 
the  open  door.  The  place  was  quite  empty,  but  she 
remembered  it.  There  hung  the  white  image  of  the 
Crucified  One,  at  whose  feet  she  had  fallen  when 
she  was  wearied  and  terrified  with  the  eternities  and 
veracities  of  the  philosophers,  and  longing  for  a 
Heart  to  pity  her  failings  and  love  her  in  spite  of 

them. 

She  had  been  a  girl  then  ;  she  was  a  woman  now 
—a  woman  wearing  a  crown  of  thorns,  that  every 


356  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

friend  pressed  tighter  on  her  brow.  She  went 
swiftly  toward  the  pitiful,  downcast  face.  She  sank 
before  it  on  her  knees,  like  one  who  suddenly  meets 
the  Cross  in  a  wilderness.  She  wept  and  prayed 
and  "  poured  out  all  her  complaint,"  and  arose  at 
last,  justified  and  comforted. 

Then  she  perceived  that  a  priest  was  standing 
silently  before  the  altar.  She  felt  that  he  had  been 
praying  with  her  and  for  her.  As  she  moved,  he 
came  toward  her.  She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  eyes, 
and  he  saw  the  light  of  comfort  in  them ;  and  he 
said  gently :  "  Go  in  peace,  my  daughter."  Then 
she  bowed  her  head  and  went  out  with  the  blessing. 

It  was  the  day  on  which  the  Medical  Journal  came, 
and  she  had  feared  another  attack  upon  her  hus 
band  and  all  the  miserable  heart-burnings  and 
defenses  to  follow.  She  no  longer  feared  it.  She 
had  a  conviction  that  there  was  a  turn  in  the  sor 
rowful  tide.  Those  who/r#y  really,  however  seldom, 
know  and  are  sure  that  the  very  gift  of  prayer 
includes  the  gift  prayed  for.  Even  the  sense  of 
loss  and  trouble  she  had  brought  away  from  her 
interview  with  Will  and  Louisa  had  fallen  from 
her.  She  went  home  cheerfully,  and  Robert  met 
her  with  a  look  of  satisfaction.  He  had  the  Journal 
in  one  hand,  and  he  struck  it  lightly  with  the  other 
as  he  said : 

"  Amber,  my  love  !  They  have  refused  to  publish 
anything  further  from  St.  Ange.  The  editor  very 
properly  says :  '  The  future  work  of  Doctor  Carter 
will  prove  or  disprove  the  allegations  his  late  assist 
ant  has  made.'  That  is  enough.  The  future  ivork! 
Amber,  why  did  we  not  think  of  that  before  ?  I  am 
content  now.  My  claims  can  stand  well  upon  this 


"Clear  Shining  After  Rain"          357 

foundation.  I  fear  St.  Ange  no  more.  But,  oh, 
my  dear,  what  a  sorrowful  life  I  have  led  you 
lately !" 

She  did  not  speak,  but  she  crept  closer  to  him  and 
slipped  her  hand  into  his.  And  some  womanly  in 
stinct  told  her  not  to  make  light  of  his  confession. 
He  had  led  her  a  sorrowful  life.  It  was  good  and 
right  he  should  confess  it.  It  was  good  that  he 
should  feel  how  unkind  and  unfair  he  had  been  re 
garding  the  girl  Meta — good  that  he  should  feel  he 
had  been  careless  of  her  happiness,  in  his  deter 
mination  to  subordinate  his  household  to  the  per 
sonal  conveniences  of  his  business.  He  had  often 
called  Ambrosia  "  selfish  "  and  felt  himself  a  little 
of  a  martyr  to  her  selfishness ;  but  he  saw  clearly 
now  that  no  experiments  were  a  sufficient  excuse  for 
subjecting  his  wife  to  the  society  of  a  man  whom 
her  instincts,  from  the  first,  had  pronounced  "  dan 
gerous."  He  had  not  been  careful  of  her  good  name, 
and  his  own  had  suffered.  The  retribution  was  a 
righteous  one,  and  he  acknowledged  it  with  a  manly 
and  honest  regret. 

Ambrosia  was  no  less  generous.  Their  explana 
tions  and  concessions  were  really  a  new  kind  of 
courtship.  Each  strove  to  excuse  the  other.  Each 
desired  to  make  confession  easy  and  forgiveness 
sweet.  And  as  they  talked,  Robert  had  a  thought 
which  sealed  the  renewal  of  their  vows. 

"  Let  us  go,"  he  said,  "  to  the  mountains,  to  the 
Catskills,  and  try  to  learn  each  other  better.  After 
all  this  worry,  I  feel  as  if  the  woods  and  the  wilder 
ness  will  be  salvation.  By  the  ist  of  June  you  can 
have  the  house  ready  to  leave,  and  I  will  arrange 
my  affairs.  Then  for  three  months  we  will  think 


358  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

only  of  each  other  and  of  the  future.  We  will 
put  all  of  the  past,  that  is  unhappy,  behind  our 
backs." 

"  Dear,  that  will  be  lovely !" 

"  You  have  long  wanted  to  learn  how  to  ride.  I 
will  get  you  a  safe  pony  and  teach  you.  Then  we 
can  ride  together." 

"  Oh,  Robert !  How  happy  that  will  make  me  ! 
Bessie  is  forever  talking  about  her  horsemanship. 
When  she  rides  with  Jack  in  the  Park,  she  believes 
every  person  is  there  only  to  watch  them." 

"  We  will  divide  observation  with  her  when  Jack 
and  she  return.     You  shall  also  learn  how  to  drive." 
"  Dear,  you  will  make  me  the  happiest  woman  in 
the  world." 

"  I  will  write  to-day  and  secure  a  cottage  and  then 
put  my  business  in  such  shape  that  I  need  not  come 
into  New  York  during  all  our  holiday." 

"  And  I  will  get  the  house  in  summer  order  and 
look  after  some  dresses.  I  shall  want  some  pretty 
dresses,  Robert." 

"  To  be  sure  you  will  get  all  the  pretty  dresses 
you  desire." 

This  plan,  simple  as  it  was,  required  a  good  deal 
of  discussion,  and  in  its  consideration,  all  the  hard 
feelings  of  the  past  were  buried.  They  felt  toward 
each  other  all  the  loving  kindness  of  their  first 
espousals,  and  they  were  wise  enough  to  give  sem 
blance  and  words  to  the  feeling.  So  great  is  the 
power  of  goodness.  As  the  most  beautiful  tints  and 
colors  are  procured  from  the  tar  which  defileth  all  it 
touches,  so  now  the  goodness  of  honest  regret  and 
confession  brought  out  of  the  vile  droppings  of 
slander  and  false  accusation  the  sweetness  of  mutual 


*' 'Clear  Shining  After  Rain."          359 

confidence,  the  tenderness  of  renewed  and  chastened 
affection. 

The  next  day,  Ambrosia  had  a  visit  from  Clara. 
She  was  looking  so  lovely  in  a  violet  dress  and 
white  bonnet  that  Ambrosia  was  compelled  to 
say : 

"  How  pretty  you  are,  Clara !  No  wonder  Bessie 
thought  you  too  young  for  the  position  you  had 
taken." 

"  So  you  also  have  heard  of  that  remark  ?  It  was 
not  a  kind  one.  Did  Bessie  call  on  you  before  she 
went  to  Europe  ?" 

"  No." 

"  I  told  her  she  ought  to  apologize  for  her  inter 
ference  with  your  affairs." 

"  She  has  not  done  so." 

"  No.  She  thought  you  owed  her  an  apology.  If 
you  had  not  told  St.  Ange  to  go  to  his  wife,  she  says 
there  would  have  been  no  public  exposure.  She 
meant  only  to  have  whispered  the  fact  to  St.  Ange, 
just  to  make  him  more  prudent,  she  says  ;  and  Miss 
Saltar  was  to  have  let  the  matter  sift  quietly  through 
our  set  by  telling  one  person  at  a  time.  Then  all 
would  have  been  warned,  and  no  one  would  have 
had  to  take  the  onus  of  giving  a  definite  publicity  to 
the  scandal.  She  supposed  then  that  St.  Ange  would 
have  disappeared,  and  so  you  would  also  have  been 
delivered  from  temptation.  That  was  her  plan  ; 
but,  as  it  was,  she  says  your  disappointment 
and  impetuous  temper  have  been  the  source  of 
great  annoyance,  having  almost  made  a  scene  in 
hei  house  and  really  put  the  disagreeable  dis 
covery  on  her.  So  she  thinks  herself  to  have  been 
much  injured." 


360  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

"Did  she  expect  to  play  with  fire  and  not  get 
burned  ?" 

"  Yes.     She  expected  it  only  to  burn  others." 

"  She  went  to  Europe  without  giving  her  last  en 
tertainment  ?" 

"  She  made  poor  health  the  excuse,  but  really, 
Mr.  Madison  was  so  angry  he  would  not  permit  the 
proposed  ball." 

"  Has  Uncle  Madison  so  much  spirit  left  ?  I 
thought  Bessie  ruled  him  with  autocratic  power." 

"  She  has  taken  such  cruel  advantage  of  his  love 
and  goodness  to  her  and  Jack  that  she  cannot  blame 
him  if  in  the  future  he  attends  a  little  to  his  own 
happiness." 

"  I  think  he  ought  to  do  so.  He  is  a  very  hand 
some  man,  and  good  as  he  is  rich.  Will  he  marry 
before  Bessie  comes  home  ?" 

"  In  ten  days." 

"  Ten  days  !     Who  is  the  fortunate  woman  ?" 

"  I  am  the  fortunate  woman,  Amber." 

"  Clara !  Clara !  I  am  so  glad  !  I  am  sure  you 
will  be  happy." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that  also.  Mr.  Madison  has  been 
my  friend  for  many  years.  He  and  Robert  stood  by 
me  in  all  the  sorrow  preceding  your  father's  death. 
I  know  the  heart  I  am  trusting.  I  am  confident  of 
the  love  that  is  mine.  But  there  was  no  thought  of 
marriage  between  us  until  Bessie  treated  him  with 
so  much  neglect  and  unkindness.  She  forgot  that 
all  came  from  his  hand,  and  scarcely  permitted 
him  an  opinion  in  his  own  house.  We  shall  alter 
that." 

"  I  have  frequently  noticed  lately  how  little 
respect  she  gave  him.  It  was  not  right." 


"Clear  Shining  After  Rain."          361 

"  It  was  unjust.  And,  above  all  qualities,  justice 
is  the  grandest.  Let  love  go,  but  let  us  have  jus 
tice.  Mr.  Madison  is  at  the  head  of  a  great  busi 
ness.  He  ought  to  be  the  head  of  his  own  house. 
When  I  am  his  wife,  I  intend  to  see  him  in  that 
place."  / 

"  Bessie  will  never  consent." 

"  Bessie  is  not  bad.  Put  Bessie  in  the  right  posi 
tion,  and  she  will  be  very  good.  For  we  may  say 
what  we  like,  Amber,  it  is  not  so  much  changing* 
ourselves  as  changing  our  circumstances  which 
makes  us  better." 

"  I  think  Bessie  ought  to  have  her  own  house." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  much  better.  A  girl  of 
twenty  ruling  her  father's  house  is  unnatural.  Bes 
sie  has  absolutely  begun  to  feel  as  if  he  ought  to 
give  her  the  last  favor  and  slip  into  his  grave,  and 
let  Jack  and.  her  enjoy  his  wealth  without  the 
encumbrance  of  his  presence." 

"  I  wonder  men  make  more  money  than  will  suf 
fice  for  their  own  life  and  love." 

"  So  do  I.  Look  at  the  Jamfrys.  Stephen  Jamfry's 
two  daughters  married  men  whom  he  rightly  de 
tested — senseless,  selfish  creatures,  who  were  per 
petually  wishing  '  the  old  hunks  '  dead  and  buried. 
His  only  son  married  a  singer,  who  dyed  her  hair 
and  painted  her  cheeks  and  was  ten  years  older  than 
her  husband.  The  money  made  with  such  sweat  of 
brain  and  forfeiture  of  all  the  joys  of  life  is  now  be 
ing  squandered  by  strangers  to  his  house  and  name, 
who  scoff  at  his  memory  and  quarrel  over  the  money, 
for  whose  acquisition  he  cut  short  his  life.  Mr. 
Madison  shall  not  follow  his  example,  if  I  can 
help  it." 


362  Girls  of  a  PeatJier. 

"What  kind  of  a  wedding  will  you  have, 
Clara?" 

"  A  very  quiet  one  ;  but  I  want  you  and  Robert 
to  be  present.  Mr.  Madison  will  also  bring  two 
friends.  We  shall  have  no  bridemaids,  no  flowers, 
no  music,  no  company  to  our  wedding-breakfast- 
nothing  but  the  ceremony  and  the  signing  of  the 
register." 

"  But  for  all  the  lack,  it  will  be  a  happy  wed 
ding,  and  Robert  and  I  will  be  proud  to  be  in 
the  little  company.  Where  are  you  going  after 
ward  ?" 

"  We  are  going  home.  We  shall  eat  our  wedding- 
breakfast  in  the  usual  parlor,  and  just  one  hour  later 
than  the  usual  time.  Mr.  Madison  cannot  leave  the 
city,  as  Jack  is  away  ;  and  I  do  not  know  of  any  nicer 
place  to  spend  our  honeymoon  than  in  that  large, 
comfortable  house,  with  all  the  luxuries  of  New 
York  at  our  hand.  If  we  want  change,  we  can  run 
down  to  the  Branch  for  a  few  days." 

"  You  are  a  sensible  woman,  Clara." 

Then  they  talked  over  the  Catskill  proposition, 
and  Clara  was  delighted  with  it ;  and  so  interested 
were  they  with  the  asides  of  these  two  great  ques 
tions,  that  both  forgot  the  time,  and  Robert  was 
home  to  dinner  while  they  were  yet  in  the  midst  of 
Clara's  wedding  garments.  Then  Clara  decided  to 
stay  all  night  with  Ambrosia,  and  the  conversation 
never  flagged  until  bed-time  ;  and  Robert  could  not 
help  the  reflection  that,  after  all,  our  own  personal 
interests,  our  joys  and  sorrows  and  hopes  and  fail 
ures  are  the  most  interesting  of  all  topics.  We  may 
talk  from  newspapers  and  books,  talk  of  science  or 
society,  politics  or  theology  ;  but  when  we  talk  from 


"Clear  Shining  After  Rain*  363 

our  hearts  we  talk  of  ourselves,  our  own  family  and 
our  own  likes,  dislikes  and  interests. 

"  Clara's  marriage  took  place  at  the  time  appointed 
and  in  the  quietly  pleasant  manner  she  desired. 
And  very  soon  after  it,  Ambrosia  and  Robert  went 
to  the  mountains.  They  were  both  glad  to  shake 
the  memory  of  the  city  from  their  hearts.  Even  to 
the  very  last  day  they  did  not  escape  some  echo 
from  the  scandal,  some  heartache  from  the  injustice 
of  their  positions.  It  is  one  thing  to  resolve  to 
throw  an  annoyance  behind  recognition ;  it  is 
another  to  compel  the  annoyance  to  take  the  place 
that  has  been  assigned  to  it.  One  day  the  situa 
tion  seemed  to  be  gained ;  then  a  trifle  happened 
which  revived  all  the  passionate  indignation  of 
the  first  wound.  The  doctor  met  St.  Ange,  or 
he  heard  of  the  defection  of  a  patient,  or  he  had 
to  endure  an  invidious  remark  or  a  joking  re 
mark  made  in  an  invidious  spirit,  from  some 
envious  rival.  Or  Ambrosia  was  cut  by  some 
one  she  had  once  patronized,  or  she  had  an  imper 
tinent  caller  or  was  wounded  in  some  other  of 
the  thousand  indefinite  ways  known  to  contempti 
ble  women. 

But  mutual  wrongs  often  bring  forth  mutual  love, 
and  the  sympathetic  discussion  of  these  outside 
grievances  prevented  absolutely  the  old  domestic 
offenses.  So  that  their  very  worst  enemies  did 
more  for  them  than  their  best  friends  could  have 
done,  and  the  event  which  might  have  killed  confi 
dence  restored  it  to  more  than  its  first  sweet 
strength. 

And  there  is  nothing  for  hearts  weary  of  the 
struggle  of  life  like  fre/h  air  and  the  smell  of  the 


364  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

woods.  Robert  found  out  that  below  his  preference 
for  city  life  there  was  the  liking  that  all  men  have 
— latent  or  developed — for  their  Mother  Nature. 
He  let  her  peace  sink  into  his  heart  and  found  Am- 
brosia  sufficient.  He  was  well  acquainted  with 
horses,  and  he  taught  her  how  to  ride.  She  was  an 
apt  scholar,  she  looked  exceedingly  handsome  dur 
ing  her  riding  exercises  ;  and  Robert  did  not  disdain 
that  small  pleasure  which  comes  to  a  man  through 
other  men  envying  him. 

He  taught  Ambrosia  how  to  drive  also,  and  when 
August  came  there  was  shooting  enough  to  make 
it  an  excuse  for  long  days  in  the  mountains. 
He  had  not  carried  a  gun  for  many  years,  and 
he  was  very  much  delighted  to  find  that  neither 
his  hand  nor  his  eye  had  forgot  its  cunning. 
And  above  all  things,  he  valued  Ambrosia's  admir 
ation  of  him  in  shooting-costume  and  her  naive 
compliment  about  the  easy  way  in  which  he  car 
ried  his  gun. 

"  Why,  it  looks  like  a  limb  of  your  body,  Robert !" 
she  said,  proudly,  and  Robert  thought  the  saying 
good  enough  to  repeat,  perhaps  a  little  too  often. 
Besides  these  things, 

"  The  married  lovers  went  a-nutting  in  the  woods  ; 
They  clomb  the  hill;  they  wandered  in  the  glades; 
They  dangled  in  the  wherries,  on  the  sparkling  stream." 

And  Clara  wrote  often  and  told  them  what  the 
great  world  was  doing  and  what  Bessie  and  Jack 
were  doing  in  the  great  world.  And  Clara  was  one 
of  those  charming  correspondents  who  never  tell 
unpleasant  things  but  always  find  out  the  very  news 
that  will  give  a  sweet  taste  to  life  And  so  it  hap- 


"Clear  Shining  After  Rain"          365 

pened  that  at  the  end  of  August  she  had  the  pleasure 
of  writing  thus  : 

"  I  passed  down Street  yesterday  and  saw  that  St.  Ange's- 

name  had  been  removed  from  the  window.  So  I  made  some  in 
quiries.  Robert  and  Ambrosia,  the  man  has  disappeared  like  a 
stone  dropped  into  mid-ocean.  He  has  left  nothing  behind  him 
but  debts  and  an  evil  name.  When  you  return,  the  world,  with- 
all  its  favor  and  its  fawning,  will  be  at  your  feet  again." 

And  Robert  did  not  affect  any  false  sympathy  for 
the  wretch.  He  said  frankly  : 

"  I  am  glad  he  is  gone  !  The  sight  of  his  name 
offended  me.  If  I  met  him,  I  had  a  headache  for 
days  afterward.  Now  I  will  go  back  to  my  work.  I 
feel  as  if  Clara's  letter  was  the  '  call '  to  it.  I  will 
prove  to  the  world  now  the  right  to  the  work  which 
I  have  already  done."  The  very  thought  filled  him 
with  longing  and  desire,  and  he  said  :  "  Dearest,  let 
us  go  home  at  once." 

And  Ambrosia  answered  : 

"  We  will  go  home  to-morrow."  And  as  she  spoke, 
a  boy  gave  her  a  little  roll  addressed  to  "  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Robert  Carter,"  and  Robert  said  : 

"  It  is  from  Will !  Dear  Will !  How  glad  he  will 
be  to  see  us  so  happy  again  !" 

<:Yes,"  said  Amber,  "even  marriage  could  not 
very  much  spoil  Will.  Will  always  found  time  to- 
think  of  others.'1 

"  And  Louisa  is  worthy  of  him.  They  suit  each 
other  exactly." 

"  Louisa  is  like  sweet  milk— not  exhilarating,  but 
real  nice." 

They  were  removing  the  outer  cover  as  they 
spoke,  and  when  the  roll  was  opened  they  found  a 
strip  of  vellum,  upon  ivory  and  gold.  And  the 


366  Girls  of  a  Feather. 

words  written  on  it  were  in  gold ;  and  Robert  and 
Ambrosia,  with  hands  and  cheeks  touching,  read 
together  this  golden  story  which  Will  had  sent 
them : 

"  One  knocked  at  the  beloved's  door,  and  a  voice  from  within 
asked  :  '  Who  is  there  ?'  And  he  answered  :  '  //  is  //'  Then  the 
voice  said:  '  This  house  will  not  hold  me  and  thee.'  And  the 
door  was  not  opened.  Then  went  the  lover  into  the  desert  and 
fasted  and  prayed  in  solitude.  And  after  a  year  he  returned  and 
knocked  again  at  the  door.  And  again  the  voice  asked:  '  Who 
is  there  fy  And  he  said:  '//  is  thyself.'  And  the  door  was 
opened  to  him."  * 

And  when  they  had  finished  reading  they  looked 
at  each  other  with  shining  eyes,  and  their  lips  met 
and  their  hearts  understood  the  parable. 


THE  END. 


*  From  Persian  Parables. 


HOPE    CORING 


BY  LILLIAN  BELL 

Author  of  ''Little  Sister  to  Wilderness" 
"Love   Affairs  of  an  OU  Maid,"  Etc..  Etc. 

Illustrated   by   Frank  T.   Merrill 

The  story  is  an  interesting  one,   full  of  thrilling  and 

dramatic  situations.     It  does  for  the  American  girl 

in  fiction  what  Gibson  has  done  for  her  in  art 

ISSUED   AS   No.    1 
...THE... 

LIBRARY  OF  POPULAR  FICTION 

I2mo  Paper,          Retail,  25  Cents 


The  Library  of  Popular  Fiction 

will  consist  of  high-class  copyright  works  of  fiction. 
Printed  on  good  paper,  clear  type,  illustrated,  sewed 
and  bound  in  an  artistic  cover,  printed  in  colors. 


FOR  SALElBY  ALL  DEALERS 
SEND  FOR  LIST   OF   TITLES 


THE  AMERICAN  NEWS  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS'  AGENTS 

3941  Chambers  Street  NEW  YORK 


THE  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 


BY   ROBERT  NEILSON    STEPHENS 

Author  of  "The  Road  to  Paris,"  "A  Gentleman  Player/'  "Captair 
Ravenshaw,"  etc.,  etc* 

Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards 

A  stirring1    romance  of   the    Revolution,    the    scene 

being  laid  in  and    around  the   old   Philipse 

Manor  House,    near  Yonkers. 

ISSUED   AS   No.   6 

...THE... 

LIBRARY  OF  POPULAR  FICTION 

I2mo  Paper,          Retail,  25  Cents 


The  Library  of  Popular  Fiction 

will  consist  of  high-class  copyright  works  of  fiction. 
Printed  on  good  paper,  clear  type,  illustrated,  sewed 
and  bound  in  an  artistic  cover,  printed  in  colors. 


FOR  SALElBY  ALL  DEALERS 
SEND  FOR  LIST  OP  TITLES 


THE  AMERICAN  NEWS  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS'  AGENTS 

39-41  Chambers  Street  NEW  YORK 


CAPTAIN  RAVENSHAW 

OR,  THE  HAD)  OF  CHEAPSIDE 

BY   ROBERT   NEILSON    STEPHENS 

Author  of  "An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  "  The  Continental  Dragoon," 
"  The  Road  to  Paris/'  etc.,  etc. 

Illustrated  by  Howard  Pyle  and  Other  Artists 

A  romance  of  Elizabethan   London.      Not  since    the 

absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagnan  have   we 

had  anything  so    good  in  the    blended 

vein    of    romance    and    comedy. 

ISSUED   AS   No.   2 
...THE... 

LIBRARY  OF  POPULAR  FICTION 

I2mo  Paper,          Retail,  25  Cents 


The  Library  of  Popular  Fiction 

will  consist  of  high-class  copyright  works  of  fiction. 
Printed  on  good  paper,  clear  type,  illustrated,  sewed 
and  bound  in  an  artistic  cover,  printed  in  colors. 


FOR  SALE  BY  ALL  DEALERS 
SEND  FOR  LIST   OF   TITLES 


THE  AMERICAN  NEWS  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS'  AGENTS 

39-41  Chambers  Street  NEW  YORK 


BY    CHARLES  G.  D.  ROBERTS 
Author  of  "  The  Forge  in  the  Forest,"  "  A  Sister  to  Evangeline,"  etc 

Illustrated  by  Frank  Verbeck 

From  the  opening  chapter  to  the  final  page  Mr.  Roberts 
lures  us  on  by  his   rapt    devotion  to  the  chang 
ing  aspects  of  nature  and  by  his  keen  and 
sympathetic  analysis  of  human  character. 

ISSUED   AS  No.   4 
...THE... 

LIBRARY  OF  POPULAR  FICTION 

I2mo  Paper,          Retail,  25  Cents 


The  Library  of  Popular  Fiction 

will  consist  of  high-class  copyright  works  of  fiction. 
Printed  on  good  paper,  clear  type,  illustrated,  sewed 
and  bound  in  an  artistic  cover,  printed  in  colors. 


FOR  SALElBY  ALL  DEALERS 
SEND  FOR  LIST   OF  TITLES 


THE  AMERICAN  NEWS  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS'  AGENTS 

3941  Chambers  Street  NEW  YORK 


iiiiiiin 

A    001372342    4 

1 
-J  X  ' 


